


Integral Entities

by sun_dance, twofacedjanus



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Cumplay, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Minor Character Death, Modern Era, Orgasm Denial, blowjob
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-04
Updated: 2014-04-28
Packaged: 2018-01-14 12:32:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 31,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1266709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sun_dance/pseuds/sun_dance, https://archiveofourown.org/users/twofacedjanus/pseuds/twofacedjanus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim Kirk is a public defender who barely makes enough to live in an apartment with no air conditioning and a broken water heater. He just so happens to be dating the newly appointed Chief of Surgery at Los Angeles' Good Samaritan Hospital.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to Matt and Heather for helping out with this, keeping me on track, and being the best editors/muses a girl could ask for. Matt and I took my initial idea (it'll come up in chapter 3) and ran with it.

Jim Kirk’s longest relationship hadn’t been particularly romantic in nature. They never went on dates, and the only times they ate together were mornings after nights of marathon sex. She’d been his best friend in college, and the relationship had been easy and carnal and, on occasion, polyamorous. She saw other people, he saw other people; mutually and beneficially, they were great friends with amazing benefits.

It was perfect at the time, but it left Jim feeling a bit off-kilter in the dating scene. As such, he had no idea what to get his boyfriend - label and all - for receiving a promotion.

Leonard had told him over drinks two days before, and he’d spent every spare moment since trying to figure out what to get him. Leonard had made it clear he didn’t want anything; Jim found that preposterous and decided to get him something anyway.

He knew the roses weren’t going to be a big deal. Roses were roses, nothing special about them. The chocolates, though - Leonard might have a problem with those. There were two dozen dark chocolate truffles in a decorative tray that Jim knew Leonard would most likely disapprove of, but as it wasn’t some kind of stuffed animal or article of clothing, Jim hoped he’d let it go and just enjoy them.

The bottle of wine Jim brought with him was another matter. Normally they collaborated on everything, from the food and drinks to the condoms and lube. Leonard had made it explicitly clear that he was going to take care of everything. Still, Jim just couldn’t resist.

With nerves and a smile, he rang the doorbell of Leonard’s house, positioning the wine under his arm and the roses in front of his grin. The door opened to reveal Leonard in a black button-up and purple scrub pants.

“Congratulations, Chief,” Jim smiled. He waited patiently on the doorstep in a pair of old high-tops, cargo shorts that were barely clinging to his hips, and a light blue shirt nearly identical to the shade of blue the sky had been that morning. “You gonna let me in?” He teased, rocking forward onto his toes.

Leonard rolled his eyes and took a step back, widening the space for Jim to enter. Once he was inside, Leonard shut the door and followed Jim into his kitchen. “I thought we weren’t doing anything special?” He mused, picking up the box of chocolates to inspect them.

While he unloaded his gifts onto the marble island, Jim took in Leonard’s appearance more closely. He was sporting a white half apron tied crookedly about his hips, and the black button-up only had two buttons secured. Underneath it was a plain white t-shirt, and the whole ensemble was jarringly uncoordinated. At the moment, Leonard was frowning down at the items on the counter.

“It’s not special,” Jim denounced, taking the box out of his hands. “It’s just chocolate,” he grinned, sliding in between Leonard and the counter. Jim looped his arms around the back of his neck, pulling them together, and Leonard set his hands on Jim’s waist when the younger man drew him in for a kiss. Despite Jim’s tongue tracing the seam, Leonard kept his lips firmly together, preventing him from delving deeper. Jim gave up after only a few minutes and pulled back, pouting prettily up at his boyfriend.

“Stop that,” Leonard muttered, tapping Jim’s bottom lip. He picked up the bottle of wine Jim had brought, frowning at the label. “How much did this cost?” He glanced from the bottle to Jim’s face, holding it between them.

“Not that much,” Jim said, avoiding his gaze. He spun away from Leonard and walked over to the stove to peer into the pots resting on top of it.

“Jim,” Leonard sighed, setting the bottle down. Jim stirred the contents on the stove and waved the scent at his nose, only startling a little when Leonard wrapped his arms around his middle.

“What?” Jim mumbled, picking up a spoonful of sauce to taste. Leonard watched Jim replace the spoon.

“I told you I had everything we needed. You didn’t have to bring anything this fancy,” Leonard mumbled, his words muffled by the back of Jim’s neck.

“It’s not fancy,” Jim protested. He placed his arms over Leonard’s and leaned back into his chest, resting his head on the other man’s shoulder. Leonard pressed kisses into his neck, following the line of a tendon until he stopped at Jim’s collar bone. He sucked a faint mark into the spot where he stalled, then pulled away with a soft squelch that made Jim wrinkle his nose.

“It’s spendy,” Leonard amended, tightening his embrace so Jim couldn’t turn around. “I know you can afford it, Darlin’. It just wasn’t necessary, that’s all.” Jim reached up to wipe up the leftover spit on his shoulder with the collar of his shirt.

“You bought everything for dinner, I wanted to pitch in,” Jim sighed, tapping one of his arms. Leonard loosened his grip and let Jim lean forward over the simmering pot of various shellfish. Leonard had been forced to give away the surprise two days earlier by having Jim swing by his office for an allergy test. He didn’t want any reactions during dinner, but after half an hour of Jim distracting him from his task, he was about ready to just say to hell with it and risk the odds.

While Leonard had filled out the extra paperwork and forms to add to his partner’s file of allergies, Jim managed to get Leonard’s pants down, and the good doctor reluctantly agreed to a blowjob in exchange for Jim’s cooperation.

Jim smiled at the memory of looking up to see Leonard’s hands gripping the edge of the table, his head thrown back as Jim took him all the way in. He leaned back from the stew. It still had a few minutes of simmering, so he turned and stepped around his doctor. Jim had spent enough time in Leonard’s kitchen by now that he knew where most things were, and he rummaged around in one of the miscellaneous utensil drawers for a corkscrew while Leonard replaced him at the stove.

“I know I bought everything,” Leonard deadpanned, adjusting the size of the flames flickering underneath the pot. “However, I assumed that was the agreement when I invited you for dinner.”

“You always pitch in when you come to my place,” Jim muttered, not quite a whine, but definitely growing tired of the discussion. He didn’t see what the problem was. Leonard acted as if he never brought drinks over to Jim’s apartment. Worse, he acted as if Jim was… incompetent, when it came to finances. He didn’t mind living in a rathole for the time being. He’d been saving every penny since he picked up the job at City Hall as a public defender. It may not pay extravagantly, but it was what Jim wanted to do.

It was what Jim liked to do, even if it meant living on a budget while he saved for a better living space; he’d been on the other side before, a modern-day beatnik without a cent to his name. He couldn’t count the number of times he’d gone to juvenile detention because he’d been assigned a lawyer that didn’t give a shit about his case. As long as he could, he would continue to represent those who couldn’t find representation, or couldn’t afford it, on their own.

“We usually just have pizza at your place,” Leonard sighed behind him. He scraped the sides of the pot, and with their backs to each other, he didn’t see Jim’s jaw tighten or his hand close tightly on the neck of the bottle.

“I didn’t know you disliked it so much,” Jim replied coolly. He turned away from the bottle and opened a nearby cupboard, seeking out the wine glasses. “I’ll try harder to appease your tastes from now on,” Jim added. He shouldered Leonard aside harder than necessary, and was in the middle of reaching for the glasses when Leonard put a hand on his shoulder.

His voice was soft and sweet, probably to counter-act Jim’s defenses. “That’s not it, and you know it.”

“Really?” Jim asked, just shy of a snarl. He refused to meet Leonard’s gaze and shrugged his hand off, turning back to the wine. He set the glasses down on the counter and filled both of them.

“Can we not do this tonight?” Leonard sighed. He folded his arms over his chest and leaned back against the counter, choosing not to comment on the quantity of alcohol. Jim turned and handed him one of the glasses, still sullenly avoiding his gaze.

“Right, sorry, you just got promoted. Can’t spoil that,” Jim scoffed, swallowing a mouthful without even tasting it. He leaned one hip against the counter and shoved the cork back in the bottle.

“No,” Leonard insisted, because Jim was missing the point. Leonard was holding his wine between his thumb and first two fingers, but didn’t hesitate to set his glass aside and cross the few feet of space that had seemingly formed a chasm between them. He cupped Jim’s elbows and stared at him, gentle but stern. He waited for Jim to look at him, even though it was several long moments of silence until he did. “It’s because I love you, and this is the only night we’ll have together until things settle down at the hospital, so I’d rather not fight.”

Leonard’s time for the next few weeks was going to be mostly eaten up by setting up schedules and taking care of paperwork. Jim, in turn, had just accepted a case that was going to give him lots of overtime, but very little time to spend with his boyfriend. Leonard’s firm expression softened after a few moments, and Jim dropped his gaze from the affection that creased the corners of his eyes.

“Yeah,” Jim huffed, setting his wine down as well. “Okay.”

“Can we start over?” Leonard smiled crookedly, spreading his arms.

“You gonna kiss me proper this time?” Jim teased, smiling and accepting his embrace.

Leonard curled one arm around Jim’s back, pressing their hips together, and set the other against the back of Jim’s neck. Without saying anything, he brought their lips together, and Jim’s breath got stuck somewhere in the middle of his chest when Leonard’s tongue swept into his mouth. He let out a groan and tilted his head, inviting Leonard deeper. He set his hands against Leonard’s sides, fingers tightening around fistfuls of his shirt; Leonard obliged, rubbing his tongue against Jim’s like he wanted the flavor to stick.

Despite the depth of the kiss, Leonard kept his movements slow, his tongue leisurely mapping out Jim’s mouth. It was gentle. Suddenly, it wasn’t; Leonard pressed forward with intent, deepening the angle of his head to improve the reach of his tongue. Jim loved it when Leonard lost control, when he went from calm and collected to insatiable. Jim could only claw at his back and let Leonard pin his hips to the counter, let him tug the tips of Jim’s hair until his head fell back. Over the previous eleven months of their relationship, the doctor had mapped out every single spot that drove Jim crazy, and he slowly but mercilessly tongued down Jim’s throat to the hollow of his collar bone.

“Bones,” Jim gasped, squirming against his mouth.

Leonard replied with a grunt that Jim assumed was supposed to be a What?, his mouth too busy sucking a bruise over Jim’s carotid to speak the word.

“I - god damnit, Bones,” Jim panted, palming the back of his neck to encourage him. Leonard licked his way across Jim’s clavicle, humming happily at having reduced Jim to a pile of nerves in less than two minutes. He left a second bruise on the other side of Jim’s neck, this one a few inches out on the front of his trapezius. He gradually transitioned to lighter and lighter kisses, until he was merely breathing in the side of Jim’s neck and holding him as close as possible.

Jim stroked the back of his head and down his shoulders, letting Leonard’s breathing slowly return to a more normal rate. He was clutching Jim snugly to his chest, and Jim accepted his apology without complaint. Before he pulled away, Leonard left one last lingering kiss to Jim’s shoulder. He straightened up, lightly kissing Jim’s lips one more time.

“At least you listened to the dress code,” Leonard said, sliding his nose alongside Jim’s. He lightly pried Jim’s hands from where they were fisted in his shirt and laced their fingers together, almost positioned to dance.

“Thought you were gonna go all the way there for a minute,” Jim smirked, letting their breath mix together. He carefully extracted his hands and slid his them up Leonard’s chest, tracing the musculature of his stomach and sliding up over his pecs.

“Naw,” Leonard grinned, setting his hands on Jim’s waist, sliding his thumbs under the bottom of his t-shirt to press against the hollow next to his hip. “Just killing time so the clams would open. They’re probably done. Hungry yet?”

Jim licked his lips and grinned. “I’m always hungry for you, sugar daddy,” he crooned, and Leonard only rolled his eyes when Jim ruined the moment.

“Such an infant,” Leonard muttered, shaking his head. “I’ll take that as a yes. Why don’t you take the drinks to the table, I’ll bring the food.”

“Deal,” Jim smiled, allowing Leonard to step back from him. When the doctor turned toward the stove and the wide bowls already waiting with pasta, Jim bit his bottom lip. “Bones?”

“Hm?” Leonard said over his shoulder, giving the pot a stir and a shake.

“I love you, too,” Jim said, and when Leonard turned in surprise, the kid was clutching the wine glasses with hands that trembled ever so slightly. “You said it a few minutes ago… I didn’t want you to think I… I mean, I love you, too,” Jim finished lamely, looking down at the counter as the tips of his ears burned.

For a second, Leonard just stared at him. He’d meant it, of course; Hell, he’d probably loved the kid for a while, but he hadn’t said anything because Jim had just seemed so temporary. He simply hadn’t meant to say it in an effort to get out of an argument, and looking back on the moment, that was certainly how it must’ve come across. Hell, he hadn’t even realized he said it until Jim brought it up.

Jim opened his mouth again, because it had been a few moments. “I just thought…”

“Good,” Leonard cut in, turning back to the stove. He picked up the pot. “Good,” he said again, quieter and to himself, as he dumped large servings of seafood over the noodles. He garnished the bowls with parsley and grated pecorino romano cheese.

When he brought the bowls to the table, Jim had his cheek resting on the edge of his palm, fingertips drumming into the table. Leonard could see he was already sinking into his head, probably over-thinking their last exchange, so he gently turned Jim’s chin up and kissed the corner of his mouth before sitting down.

“I forgot to say thank you for the roses, wine, and chocolate.”

“You’re welcome,” Jim smiled, picking up his fork. “But you got off a sixteen hour shift and made dinner for me. That’s almost as good as chocolate and roses.”

“Almost,” Leonard smirked, dodging Jim’s attempt to flick him on the arm.

The tension fled completely after that, leaving them to make comfortable small talk amid the messy slurping and cracking open of shellfish. It took Jim almost the entire meal to get the hang of opening the clams, asking Leonard frequently to show him the technique just one more time.

It wasn’t until Jim’s last mussel that he couldn’t hold his grin any longer, his fist pressed over his mouth to keep it hidden. Leonard looked up from his demonstration and caught it, eyes narrowing.

“You little shit,” he hissed, and Jim let out a harsh bark of laughter. “You know how to open shellfish,” he accused.

“That was too easy,” Jim managed, in between giggling and snorting at Leonard’s frown. It didn’t take long for the corners of his mouth to twitch upward, and then he shook his head.

“You little shit,” he said again, this time laughing along with Jim. Their glasses of wine were virtually untouched due to the messy nature of opening all of the shelled creatures hidden among the broth. When Jim finally called it quits on his bowl, Leonard was quick to throw in the towel as well.

“God, that was amazing,” Jim groaned, rubbing at his slightly bloated stomach. “I hope you don’t expect me to put out after that.” He was only half joking, but when Leonard took his hand and rubbed at his knuckles, he was completely serious.

“I would never expect you to put out, Jim,” he said, eyes soft. “I do have more planned, however. We can bring the wine.” Leonard stood and released Jim’s hand so he could stack their bowls. He transferred them to one hand and picked up his glass with the other, taking a sip. “Great choice, by the way,” he smiled, and then retreated back to the kitchen. Jim was slow to follow, but eventually he climbed onto his feet and grabbed the bottle of wine and his own glass.

“What’s next?” Jim asked, stifling a yawn.

“You’ll see. Follow,” Leonard said, beckoning Jim up the stairs. He waited until Jim was close behind him and led them both up the stairs, sipping frequently to keep the taste of the wine on his tongue. It was a German wine that washed over the palate in equal measures of sweet and bitter. Leonard wasn’t particularly enthusiastic about sweet wines, but it was all Jim liked; they’d found a happy medium in the Gewürztraminer.

The entire second floor was one large room. Along the right wall was a wide king bed draped in complementary dark colors. Jim knew from experience that the sheets were made of satin, and were probably the best he’d ever had sex in. In one corner was a large walk-in closet and in the adjacent corner was the bathroom, which was where Leonard headed when he crested the top of the stairs.

Leonard’s bathroom was quite possibly Jim’s favorite place in the whole house. The room was almost the size of Jim’s studio apartment. The wall immediately to the right after walking in was one long mirror and counter that ended with a cabinet and toilet. There were usually a number of things out, like shaving cream, a razor, a toothbrush; usual hygiene items, but presently there were none. To the left upon entering was a large square shower that Jim had yet to use, but imagined it had amazing water pressure. In the far left corner was a large triangular bathtub, with a towel rack situated between the shower and the tub.

Jim shifted the wine bottle and his glass into one hand as they entered. He stepped up behind Leonard to press against his back. He wrapped an arm around his middle, splaying his fingers along the man’s sternum. With Jim’s cheek pressed to his shoulder blade, he felt the rumble of Leonard’s chuckle resonate and smiled.

“Why exactly are we in your bathroom?” Jim asked, pulling back from the warmth of his body.

“I told you I had plans,” Leonard grinned. He took Jim’s hand in his own. “First night you plan on stayin’, I’m gonna make it good.” He leaned over to press his lips behind Jim’s ear.

It wasn’t that Jim had qualms with waking up beside Leonard; they had spent the night together countless times, but it was always at Jim’s place and only ever on nights when Leonard didn’t have work the next day. It worked, and Leonard couldn’t fault Jim for preferring to wake up in his own bed.

He laced his fingers with Jim’s hand and tugged him around, smiling broadly when Jim gasped. There were candles lining the edge of the tub that hugged the wall, most of them never used. They were comprised mostly of soft scents - vanilla and berries and lavender - and Leonard left Jim’s side to start lighting them.

“You old romantic,” Jim teased.

“It’s not too much?” Leonard asked, glancing at Jim over his shoulder. He turned away from the candles and set the lighter on the bathroom counter, unbuttoning his black shirt and shrugging out of it.

Jim laughed and set the wine bottle and glass on the counter. “I had chocolates made especially for you, Bones. I don’t think this is too much.”

“Good,” Leonard grinned, leaning in to drop a kiss on his cheek. “Top us off, would you?”

Jim nodded and refilled the glasses while the aroma of the candles began wafting towards them. Leonard turned on the taps, tested the water with his fingertips, and when he was satisfied with the temperature he turned back towards his lover. Jim set the bottle back down on the counter and started undressing, but Leonard stepped up behind him and covered his hands.

“Let me,” he murmured, nuzzling at Jim’s ear with his lips. Jim leaned back into his chest, lifting his arms over his head when Leonard slid his t-shirt upwards. He pressed his lips along the line of Jim’s neck, soft and deliberate as he moved out towards Jim’s shoulder. The shirt dragged over his skin slowly, Leonard pulled away so it could clear Jim’s head. He let the shirt fall from his fingers and splayed his hands at Jim’s hips, pulling them snugly together. Leonard mouthed his way back to Jim’s neck, traveling up to pull at his ear lobe.

“You’re such a tease,” Jim huffed, placing his hands over Leonard’s. He tilted his head to the side, offering more access.

“Not like you’re complainin’,” Leonard replied, lifting his fingers to lace them between Jim’s. He lingered for a little while, giving the other side of Jim’s neck and shoulders the same treatment; before he moved to finish his task, he sucked a light mark on the back of his neck, up by his hairline.

Jim let him extract his fingers, watching in the mirror as Leonard’s hands crept towards the clasp of his shorts. Jim knew from experience that Leonard’s hands were nimble and quick when they wanted to be, and he gave Leonard’s reflection an impatient scowl. Leonard smirked and took his time, wiggling the button back and forth until it popped open, sliding the zipper down with painstaking care. Jim could feel each of the zipper’s teeth as they released, and he pressed his hips back impatiently into Leonard’s groin.

The concentrated look on the doctor’s face faltered, his gaze flicking up to meet Jim’s smirk with a glare.

“I don’t have to continue,” Leonard growled, baring his teeth against Jim’s skin like a warning.

“Sorry,” Jim hissed, dropping the back of his head on Leonard’s shoulder. “I’m just hard as a rock over here, but go ahead, take your time.”

“Plan to,” Leonard smirked, but pushed Jim’s shorts down over his hips. He was indeed hard and his boxers tented around his erection. Leonard snaked a hand forward, giving his length a squeeze.

“I hate you,” Jim whined, hips stuttering forward in search of better attention. Leonard chuckled into his skin, hooking his thumbs lazily into the waistband of Jim’s boxers.

“I don’t think that’s true.” He pushed Jim’s boxers down a couple of inches, far enough for his cock to bounce free, and paused Jim’s undressing to slide his fingertips down below his penis, caressing his balls. Jim had no retort, and when Leonard looked at him again, his eyes were closed and his lips parted in anticipation. “You look so good like this,” Leonard muttered, squeezing gently. He carefully eased Jim’s weight back to his own feet and slid his boxers down to the floor.

By then, the tub was roughly two thirds of the way full, and Leonard turned to shut off the tap. He was still dressed, his scrubs hanging low off his waist. He tested the water with his fingers, just to be sure it wasn’t too hot, and wiped his hand on his undershirt.

Jim seized a handful of the white cotton shortly after, hauling him back to a standing position. He spun Leonard around, pulling him close by the back of his neck. Head still spinning from standing too quickly, it took Leonard a moment to react to the hard press of Jim’s mouth. He received a brief reprieve when Jim jerked his shirt up and over his head.

Leonard was better prepared when he returned, his mouth opening easily to allow Jim’s tongue the access it demanded. Jim made quick work of the drawstring of his pants, shoving them down. He reached for Leonard’s ass, pulling their groins sharply together, and made a small noise in surprise.

“Doctor McCoy, did you go commando today?”

“I need to do laundry, sue me,” Leonard muttered, pushing Jim back from him. He bent over to rid himself of his scrubs and before Jim could attack him again, stepped into the tub. “Grab the wine, you impatient child.”

Jim snorted, but complied, bringing the glasses to the left corner where Leonard was sitting. His payment for handing Leonard his drink was a kiss, and it turned quickly into teeth and tongue and Leonard sliding one wet hand around the back of Jim’s neck. Jim was bent over at an angle, braced against the edge of the tub, and Leonard finally released him with a promising look.

Jim straightened up, wiping the back of his hand over his mouth, and climbed into the corner Leonard was facing. He placed his glass next to the candles and lowered himself into the water, and it took a few moments of fumbling to find a comfortable position of limbs.

“So,” Jim started, once he was settled. He had his calves settled on top of Leonard’s thighs and his arms laid on the edge of the tub, slouching down into the water. “What’s all this about?”

Leonard picked up his own glass and took a sip before replying. “Just wanted you to be comfortable,” he smiled, delving one hand under the water to give Jim’s ankle a squeeze.

“I’m always comfortable around you,” Jim mumbled, pulling back his knee so that his foot was resting against Leonard’s palm. He flashed a grin.

“What am I supposed to do with this?” Leonard asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I ran all over the courthouse today. Use your doctorly ways and heal me,” Jim smirked, fluttering his eyelashes in a horrible attempt to woo his boyfriend into complying.

“I’ve been in surgery all day,” Leonard grumbled, but he was already setting his glass down and reaching into the water for Jim’s ankle. He pulled it closer, nearly causing Jim to dump his wine in the bathtub, but whatever snarky comment was on his tongue disappeared when Leonard pressed his thumbs into the arch of Jim’s foot.

“Oh, yeah,” Jim groaned, setting his glass down. He laid his head back against the edge of the tub, his eyes already closed, and Leonard chuckled softly. He spent a few long minutes coaxing the tension out of the muscles, alternating between pressing and rubbing along the wet skin.

“How’s that?” Leonard asked quietly, although it was highly unnecessary, and the squinty-eyed look Jim cast his way made him laugh all over again.

“I highly doubt you need to be told,” Jim sighed, pulling himself to an upright position. He made himself comfortable with his back against the wall and pulled one of the other man’s feet into his lap in return.

“No, but it is nice to hear,” Leonard grinned, squeezing Jim’s heel. “How are your cases going?”

“Well enough. How’s that kid you operated on last week?”

“Already thinks he’s well enough to walk,” Leonard winced, his hands stalling when Jim found a tender spot.

“I bet he’s gonna be fine, and you’re just being overprotective as always.”

Leonard refocused his gaze on Jim, his frown light but still creasing his forehead. “Nobody should be up and about a week after surgery, kid. He could pull out his stitches.”

Jim pressed firmly into the tender spot, watching Leonard’s eyes flutter closed and an involuntary groan escape his lips. “I know,” Jim smirked, soothing over the area with lighter strokes. To finish, he ran the pads of his fingers over the bottoms of Leonard’s toes, gauging the effectiveness by how hard Leonard bit into his own lip. He switched Leonard’s foot out for the other, rubbing his fingers over the top to help him relax. “It’s still fun getting you all riled up.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Leonard grumbled, lowering Jim’s leg to rest next to his own. He picked up the other, working steadily over his flesh. He worked his gaze slowly up the line of Jim’s shin, noting with interest that Jim’s leg hair stood out much more underwater. He smoothed one hand up the back of his calf, squeezing and pulling the muscle back down, feeling the rough terrain with nothing but his fingers.

When he was finished, Leonard gently set Jim’s foot down and picked up his glass for another drink.

“Good thing I didn’t go with rose petals,” Leonard mused, watching Jim trail his fingertips over the surface of the water.

“Rose petals?” Jim snorted, shaking his head. He picked up his glass, wary of the candles perched around the edge of the tub, and turned around. He glanced over his shoulder and once he was in reach, Leonard set a hand on his hip to help guide him back into his lap.

He settled against Leonard’s chest, one of the doctor’s corded forearms wrapped around his chest, and allowed his head to drop back.

“Why on earth would you have put rose petals in here?”

“I dunno. Isn’t that somethin’ guys do when they wanna be romantic?”

Jim hummed softly and took another gulp of wine. “You don’t have to be romantic with me.”

Leonard pressed his lips behind Jim’s ear, sighing softly against his skin. He brushed his lips lightly over the sensitive area, breathing evenly across Jim’s neck. “It’s not ‘cause I have to.” It was most likely due to the wine, but Jim’s breath still stuttered when Leonard dragged his teeth across the edge of his ear.

“Well,” Jim replied unsteadily, “you don’t have to.”

“I want to,” Leonard whispered, bringing his free hand up to caress Jim’s stomach. He waited until Jim relaxed and tilted his head to the side before he descended, pressing open mouthed kisses where his neck met his shoulders.

“Oh,” Jim mumbled, far too distracted by Leonard tongueing against his skin to push the issue.

Leonard smiled into Jim’s neck, wrapping his other arm around him and pulling their bodies tight together. His chest swelled with an enormous inhale, and he let it back out with an audible sigh. Jim leaned his head against Leonard’s, eyes closing; the bath was still pleasantly hot, and he was content to just be held.

Jim covered Leonard’s hands, lacing their fingers together, and Leonard squeezed in return.

“You definitely stayin’ the night?” Leonard asked, his words muffled by the side of Jim’s neck. He gently pulled his hands free and allowed them to roam, traveling up over Jim’s pecs with slow, purposeful movements. He pressed the flat of his palm over the muscle, working his fingertips slowly towards the middle. He bent his fingertips lazily into the blond curls and dragged them outward, down Jim’s sides, then smoothed his palms over Jim’s belly.

“I don’t think you’d let me leave if I wanted to,” Jim teased, reaching one hand up to wrap loosely around the back of Leonard’s neck. He rested his other arm up on the edge of the tub and watched Leonard’s hands, mesmerized; it gave him an idea, but he pushed the thought aside and focused on the present moment.

Leonard pulled his hands back to Jim’s hips, smoothing down the tops of Jim’s thighs as far as he could reach, pressing lightly on the taut muscles. He repeated his actions from above, bending his fingers at the tips to lightly drag his nails over Jim’s skin, moving steadily upward over Jim’s hips. His breath was falling evenly on Jim’s shoulder, hands moving with the calculated and meticulous movements that came from years of surgeries.

If Jim had any single word for the way Leonard touched him - slow, purposeful, firm - it was loving, and it was not new in any sense of the word. It was just different.

After a while, Jim slowly moved his hands to cover Leonard’s, bringing them to a standstill. Leonard waited, cautious and patient, until Jim seemed to make up his mind and crossed their arms in front of him. Leonard received the message, and squeezed Jim against him, pressing their bodies together from shoulder to hip. He kept up the pressure for a full twenty seconds and then relaxed, content to just hold Jim in place.

The only sound in the room was the slow drip of water from the tub faucet. Jim took a deep breath and sighed, and Leonard’s hands started up again, this time hooking up under Jim’s arms to knead the muscles of his shoulders. He moved downward, past Jim’s clavicle, to spread his hands over Jim’s chest like he wanted to occupy as much surface area as physically possible.

He hummed, pressing his lips against the damp ends of Jim’s hair. “Hey, kid,” he mumbled, nosing in behind Jim’s ear.

“Hm?” Jim was barely coherent, lulled into a kind of trance that was made worse by the vibrations of Leonard’s voice against his back. Leonard worked his way over Jim’s pecs, lightly brushing his nipples. He traced Jim’s ribs with feather-light strokes, smoothed down his abs, and stopped with his fingertips just at the edge of Jim’s pubic hair.

“I meant it when I said I love you,” Leonard said, almost imperceptibly quiet, but Jim heard him loud and clear. To Leonard’s relief, he didn’t move a muscle, or tense up, or stop breathing. He just placed his hands over Leonard’s, closed his eyes, pressed the side of his head against Leonard’s cheek. Leonard squeezed again, turning just enough to kiss Jim’s jaw.

Jim sucked in a breath and sat up, the movement jarring Leonard out of the quiet moment. It only took a moment of pulling at Leonard’s fingers, prying first the longest ones away and then the rest. When Leonard let go, Jim rocked forward. As soon as his warm back left its place against Leonard’s chest, the bathwater rushed in, now uncomfortably tepid.

He watched as Jim pulled away, drifting towards the center of the tub. He twisted around and returned, wedging his knees between Leonard’s hips and the sides of the tub. He framed Leonard’s face in his hands and smiled down at him.

Jim brought their foreheads together, and Leonard looped his arms around his waist, staring bewildered up at him.

“I meant it, too, Bones.” He sounded much more sure, and he leaned in to press a soft kiss to the corner of Leonard’s mouth. “I love you,” he murmured against his lips, and then traced the outline of Leonard’s pout with his tongue until his lips opened. Jim took his time, which was already a breath of fresh air from his usual approach, and when he pulled back there was nothing but confident calculation on his face. That look on Jim Kirk was not usually a good one.

Jim continued, his expression softening long enough for Leonard to bring his hands forward, framing Jim’s hips. He pressed his thumbs over the muscle to the inside of the bone, but kept his eyes trained on Jim’s.

“I’m gonna miss you like hell, Bones,” he said quietly, stroking over Leonard’s cheek with a single thumb. He moved the other hand down to Leonard’s shoulder, shuffling closer until he could lower himself to Leonard’s thighs and still be within kissing range. “You better not get another promotion any time soon, otherwise I might just have to charge you with a malpractice suit.”

“That’s only for actual patients, Jim,” Leonard drawled, barely containing a smirk. “And only in cases where the doctor was negligent.”

“Will you not be neglecting me for the next few weeks while you get settled?” Jim reared back, pressing a hand over his heart theatrically. “Am I not your actual patient?”

Leonard rolled his eyes. “So dramatic,” he muttered, reaching a hand around the back of Jim’s neck. He pulled him down, pausing just shy of his lips. “And for the record, I don’t plan on any more promotions,” he added, before pulling Jim’s mouth securely against his own. Jim’s hands both fell to his shoulders, bracing himself against the teeth nipping at his bottom lip.

While he had Jim trapped in one hand, he moved the other between them, finding Jim’s dick floating half hard between them. Jim tensed up under his hand, his mouth going immobile as he tried to decide where to focus. Leonard didn’t give him room to breathe, let alone think, his hand already working over Jim’s dick. He squeezed the back of Jim’s neck with his other hand, flicking his tongue against the roof of Jim’s mouth, and then Jim surged into action.

He wedged his hands between them, bracing himself against Leonard’s chest, and managed to wrestle a few inches of space between them.

That look was back on Jim’s face, the one that said Leonard was going to enjoy what came next.

“What do you say we move this to the bed?” Jim asked, slightly breathless; Leonard raised an eyebrow at him, giving his cock a teasing squeeze. He twisted his hand so that his palm rubbed up underneath the head and watched Jim shudder and try to remember his idea, whatever that may be.

“Dunno, Jim,” Leonard said innocently, rubbing his thumb slow and merciless against the sensitive spot below the tip of Jim’s cock, “I think we’re both having a grand old time in here.”

“The water’s getting cold,” Jim hissed, his hips stuttering forward into the friction of Leonard’s hand.

“So?” Leonard smirked and gave Jim a quick, firm stroke, the water lending just enough lubrication to make it slide, but retaining just enough friction to make Jim sigh in frustration.

“I would really rather get out,” Jim growled through clenched teeth, his eyes closed and hands gripping the sides of the tub. He couldn’t quite bring himself to pull away completely, and Leonard knew it. He leaned forward, licking hard over one of Jim’s nipples. He replaced his tongue with his teeth and scraped lightly over the flesh, now stroking evenly over Jim’s dick. It was quick enough to have Jim occasionally jerking into it, but slow enough to keep him hanging in the balance between pleasure and frustration.

He continued for a few minutes longer, and just when Jim was starting to get used to the rhythm, he let go.

“Y’know, I think it is gettin’ kinda cold,” Leonard drawled, making no attempt to dodge a smack to his shoulder.

“Just for that, we’re doing something I’ve been wanting to try,” Jim grumbled, poking him in the chest. Before Leonard could retaliate, he backed away, standing up in the tub. Leonard watched as Jim climbed over the side, his cock bobbing. He glared at Leonard as he grabbed a towel and began drying off his chest.

“I don’t know why you’re complaining about a handjob,” Leonard muttered, lifting the plug from the drain. He set it on the side of the tub and stood up, leaning over to blow out the candles. When he turned around, Jim was holding out a clean towel, his own wrapped around his waist. His legs were still dripping water, the blond fur clinging to the contour of his legs. Leonard pressed his face into the towel first, fighting the flush that threatened to creep up his chest at the heated look Jim was giving him. By the time Leonard finished toweling off, Jim’s erection had subsided a little, but only just.

“Bedroom?” Jim prompted, but it sounded more like a command, and Leonard practically bounced as he walked toward the door. Jim followed straight behind him, closer than a shadow.

“So, what is it you want to do?” Leonard asked, rubbing the towel over his back to collect the last bit of moisture.

“There’s something I wanna try. Go sit on the floor in front of the mirror. Trust me,” Jim said at the skeptical look Leonard threw his way. “Go sit, I gotta go get my bag.”

Leonard sighed softly, but complied. Jim’s ‘ideas’ weren’t usually anything to get worked up over. He always listened whenever Leonard expressed his concerns, usually putting them at ease before he’d even finished articulating them. Jim always came up with a safe word, although Leonard hadn’t once used it, and Jim’s games weren’t usually the type of thing that needed safe words. Leonard only needed to say, ‘stop’, or ‘jim’ in a certain tone, and Jim would immediately back off with a look of concern.

Jim was only gone for a few minutes and when he stomped back up the stairs, Leonard was sitting cross-legged in front of his mirror, hands folded neatly in his lap, pulling languidly at his cock.

“Not like that,” Jim smirked, dropping his bag by the bed. He knelt beside it and rummaged through it, surfacing with a sizeable bottle of transparent red liquid. He walked up behind Leonard and dropped down, setting his towel on the floor next to him. “Stretch your legs out, like this,” Jim said, allowing his legs to frame Leonard’s hips. They bent at the knees, and when Leonard mirrored him, he flushed slightly at the very intimate view.

“Jim,” he muttered, torn between closing his legs and allowing Jim to continue.

“It’s okay,” Jim whispered, wrapping an arm around his chest. He guided Leonard back against his chest, supporting him, and used gentle enough pressure to give Leonard the option to back out.

He didn’t, of course; he settled back against Jim’s chest, watching Jim’s hands in the mirror. Jim let go of his chest, leaving him draped over Jim’s legs and torso, and opened the bottle of liquid. A sweet scent drifted towards him, and he watched Jim pour a decent amount of it into his palm.

“Lube?” Leonard raised an eyebrow, watching Jim spread the lube around by rubbing his fingers over his palm. When his hand was sufficiently coated, he used the clean one to pull Leonard’s knees wider apart. He flattened his own legs and maneuvered until Leonard’s feet were flat on the floor to the outside of Jim’s knees, his legs spread wantonly. He was already flushed and hard from watching Jim coat his hand, but his discomfort had returned and made his spine rigid.

“Relax,” Jim murmured, pressing his lips to Leonard’s ear; then he took Leonard’s cock in his hand, and it wasn’t like the good doctor could refuse. “God, you’re gorgeous like this,” Jim hissed into Leonard’s ear. He groaned softly, dropping his head back against Jim’s shoulder and letting his eyes drift shut. Jim moved slowly up and down his length, getting him good and slick. He started at the base and tightened his grip as he stroked upward, letting his hand loosen again as he went back down. He moved his hand lower to cup Leonard’s balls, palming them gently with his hand sticky from lube.

Jim moved his free hand over Leonard’s chest, feeling his breath stutter when Jim’s fingers moved lower, rubbing gently over his perineum. The muscles in Leonard’s legs and ass fluttered, clenching indecisively at the friction. He let out a noise that was halfway between a groan and a whine, his hands braced against and clutching Jim’s thighs.

“Bones,” Jim murmured, kissing down from his ear. He grazed his teeth gently over Leonard’s neck, licking and biting and sucking down towards his shoulder.

Leonard made a noise that Jim took as an acknowledgement, and sucked a mark over a cluster of freckles before he continued.

“I want you to watch,” Jim murmured, nudging Leonard’s jaw with his forehead. Leonard huffed and opened his eyes, meeting Jim’s gaze in the mirror. “Not me,” he clarified, looking pointedly down at his hand. Leonard faltered but after some deliberation, trailed his gaze down the mirror.

Jim’s free hand was stroking through his chest hair, giving him quiet encouragement, and his other hand was still stroking steadily up and down his length. Leonard squirmed slightly, but didn’t look away.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this for you, Bones,” Jim whispered, turning his mouth back to Leonard’s shoulders. The muscles in his stomach fluttered, so Jim dipped his hand down towards his belly button, rubbing side to side through the mat of fur. He started varying his strokes, sometimes twisting, sometimes keeping them even, sometimes spending elongated moments swirling his palm around and around the head of Leonard’s cock just to watch him buck and hear him whine.

Ultimately, Jim did what he wanted; he took his time, learning the contour of Leonard’s dick, memorizing the way it felt, the heat and length and hardness of it. He chased a vein down the side of it and brought two fingers up the bottom side, finishing the movement with a flick past the head.

He made the movement fluid and turned his hand over, wrapping it around Leonard’s shaft again and plunging down to the base for a quick-paced, tight backhand. He paused at the base after a few hard strokes, twisting his hand with the ring of his thumb and forefinger pressing into his pelvis.

“God, Jim,” Leonard groaned, eyes heavy with lust. “Your hands are magic.”

Grinning into his shoulder, Jim dipped his clean hand lower, taking his balls in hand. It wasn’t long before he felt them tense, and at just the right moment, he pulled both hands away entirely.

Long jets of come spurted up from his cock, landing squarely on Leonard’s belly, coating it in just a few shots. Jim watched Leonard’s ass leave the floor, his abs and thighs clenching hard, but Jim knew by the look on his face that he’d succeeded.

Leonard looked robbed, and he looked up at Jim’s face when he snickered into his shoulder.

“You - did that on purpose!” Leonard choked, his body still clenched, braced for the orgasm that was quickly receding. “How did you do that?”

“Did you actually come?” Jim grinned, giving his neck one last kiss.

“No, I didn’t,” Leonard grumbled, shaking his head. Jim carefully nudged and prodded until he could scoot backward, allowing Leonard to lean back on his hands as Jim crawled around and knelt between his legs.

“Good,” Jim cooed, grinning wickedly as he slid his lube-sticky hand through as much jizz as he could, and then brought his hand to his mouth. “Now you get to watch this.” And Leonard did watch, wide-eyed and undeniably frustrated, as Jim licked up the product of the last few minutes, licking up every drop from his palm and fingers, then making one more pass over Leonard’s belly that really only served to get him sticky with lube.

“God, Jim, are you trying to kill me?” Leonard groaned, as Jim made a show of sucking come and lube off his fingers.

“The French don’t call it la petite mort for nothing,” he grinned, licking up the last of Leonard’s come. He showed his tongue and made a show of swallowing.

“So you are trying to kill me,” Leonard whined.

When Jim finished, he leaned over Leonard, kissing him hard enough for Leonard to taste not just the lube, but himself underneath it. Jim left him with bruised lips and quickly crawled back behind him once more, pulling him back into the same position.

He talked casually, as if it were a regular old conversation and not the middle of sex, while he prepped his hand again.

“I saw it in a video, by the way, and I had to learn to do it myself.” This time, he let the lube retain some of its chill, and Leonard hissed when Jim wrapped his palm around him again.

Leonard immediately started thrusting into Jim’s hand, his head falling back onto his shoulder.

“Watch,” Jim commanded, his voice a low growl in Leonard’s ear, and Leonard obeyed in a hurry. His head snapped up and he watched as Jim held his hand still and let Leonard fuck it, keeping the pressure just right as he did so.

For the second time, Jim managed to get him to come without letting him come, and when Jim crawled around to wipe off his chest again, he was both incredibly turned on and beyond frustrated.

“Christ, Jim, I had no idea you were this kinky,” he ground out. If he weren’t so painfully hard, he might actually be able to enjoy this. As it were, Jim made a show of licking up the white stripes along his chest.

Jim moved behind him again, and this time Leonard was determined. He did everything he could, clenched every muscle harder than he ever had, and this time his sperm landed clear up on his chest; his desperate efforts to orgasm proved futile, though.

He cursed loudly when Jim extracted himself for the third time, his anger only fueled by Jim’s answering chuckle as he crawled up Leonard’s chest. Jim cleaned him off with his tongue again, licking over every square inch of his torso, and swallowed Leonard’s cock once for good measure.

“Jim, I swear to God -” Leonard started, but as soon as he did Jim pulled off and got to his feet.

“Come here,” Jim muttered, taking his hand. He pulled Leonard towards the bed and sat him down at the edge. “You trust me, right?” Jim grinned, kissing him hard without waiting for a reply. Leonard groaned into it, his hands pulling at Jim’s shoulders to try pulling him into his lap, but Jim resisted. “Just hold on, Bones,” he murmured, and quickly retrieved the lube. He turned it upside down over Leonard’s cock, letting the lube land on his head and drizzle sloppily down the sides.

When Leonard’s cock was sufficiently coated, Jim capped the lube and collected some on the tip of a finger.

“I swear to God,” Leonard muttered again, when Jim did nothing more for a few long seconds. Then Jim grinned up at him like a kid in a candy store, and in the next moment Jim’s nose was pressed into his pelvis and his lubed finger was sliding in between Leonard’s cheeks, rubbing in tight circles around his hole.

“Oh God,” Leonard whined, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the edge of the bed. “Oh, God, Jim,” he hissed, hips stuttering upward into Jim’s mouth. “Jim!” He shouted, falling back on his elbows, his head falling back.

Jim pulled off, his finger continuing to press and slide over sensitive nerves. “Keep watching, Bones,” Jim said hoarsely, and only when Leonard had weakly lifted his head did Jim suck his length all the way to the back of his throat again. Jim reached for one of Leonard’s hands, barely managing to lace their fingers together before Leonard squeezed hard. He stroked his thumb over Leonard’s until the grip relaxed to a less painful one, and kept rubbing at his knuckles as Leonard jerked and twitched his way closer and closer to a real orgasm.

“Jim, I - I need it,” he gasped, barely managing to keep his head up. Jim locked eyes with him then, not even a hint of a smirk in them; only desire, only determination, and Leonard’s mouth parted. His breaths started coming faster and uneven, and Jim stopped moving so that he could thrust freely into his mouth. If there was anything better than watching him come undone, it was hearing it; hearing his breath become loud and harsh, his exhales somewhere on the border of a breathy moan and a guttural whine, peppered with occasional word-like noises.

Jim gauged his closeness carefully, watching his abs clench and feeling his hand grip Jim’s hard enough to hurt. He let Leonard return his grip to the bed and wrapped his thumb and first finger in a ring around the base of his cock; the icing on the cake was when Jim let his other index finger slip past the tight ring of muscle. He immediately found his prostate and rubbed furiously at it. Leonard was still watching his cock disappear between Jim’s lips, just as Jim had asked; Leonard’s mouth was now open wide, a look of pure agony on his face; he was so close, so close; Jim had the finger and thumb wrapped just tight enough around the base to keep it at bay, and just when Leonard thought he was going to die, between the prostate stimulation and the tight, wet heat of Jim’s mouth and being so close yet physically unable to come, Jim let go of his cock.

Leonard’s body trembled violently, the shudder starting at his groin and traveling outward in all directions, and then he was spurting thick and hot across the back of Jim’s tongue, his eyes finally closing and his mouth still wide open in blissful, beautiful agony.

Jim sucked greedily at his throbbing and pulsing cock, tongueing at the slit between each wave, gradually slowing but not yet removing his finger from Leonard’s prostate. He was waiting for Leonard to say the word, to say stop, but he couldn’t get his tongue to work. He could only shudder and shake and moan uncontrollably as Jim wrung every last drop out of him.

At last, Jim stopped moving, his tongue growing still. He kept Leonard in his mouth, still half hard but only because Jim just hadn’t stopped. He pushed his hand up over Leonard’s chest, the contact against his sternum somehow grounding. Jim pulled away by degrees; first he carefully left the tight ring of muscle, avoiding his prostate on the exit; second, he gingerly grabbed at the shaft and widened his lips, leaving Leonard’s cock raw and wet and lovingly laying it down for him.

Jim didn’t know how long he crouched there rubbing Leonard’s thighs. He didn’t care. Leonard looked more exhausted than after one of his thirty six hour shifts. He was so spent, he didn’t even have the will to hold his eyes shut completely. Jim crawled up on the bed beside him, brushing his sweaty hair off his forehead.

By the time Leonard could speak again, it had been a few solid minutes, and Jim was stroking firmly over his chest and shoulders, kneeling next to him on the bed and hovering over him.

“I think that’s the best video on the internet,” Leonard groaned, reaching up to take Jim’s hands in his own. Jim froze, half his weight pressing his hands into Leonard’s chest.

“See what happens when you trust me?” Jim smiled, and it held none of his usual smugness. He leaned down, kissing Leonard slowly.

“Yeah, sure,” Leonard mumbled, rolling onto his side once Jim had pulled away. He rose shakily to his hands and knees and shuffled over beside Jim, who was still hard and had dried precome on his thighs.

“You don’t have to,” Jim protested, pushing at Leonard’s shoulders to try and get him to lay down. Leonard fought him for a moment, but soon gave in, falling into his pillows with a groan.

“Jim,” Leonard murmured, eyeing Jim’s erection.

“I got it, Bones. Believe me, you letting me do that to you was… more than enough.” He laughed and ducked his head sheepishly, and Leonard propped his head in his hand.

“At least come here, hm?”

Jim nodded and grabbed the lube, laying down on his back next to him. Leonard scooted closer and slid his arm under Jim’s head, lowering his mouth for a long, slow, deep kiss. Jim had barely even opened the lube when Leonard took it out of his hands, still kissing him thoroughly.

“I want to do it,” Leonard mumbled, trailing kisses down Jim’s chin, and how could he say no? Leonard made his way quickly down over Jim’s chest, wasting no time in slicking Jim up. He doubted either of them would ever be able to eat anything remotely tasting of strawberries without thinking about that night.

His reciprocation was hardly extravagant, but Leonard had a knack for pushing all the right buttons, and Jim had nearly come just from watching Leonard unravel, so it didn’t take long. Leonard stroked Jim through his orgasm, whispering soft encouragements as Jim writhed under his hand. Jim’s chest was streaked with pearlescent white stripes, and when Leonard finally released his cock, he brought his hand up to lick away the mess on his fingers.

Jim didn’t open his eyes until his breathing had returned to normal, and Leonard was in the process of slowly cleaning off his chest with his tongue. He passed over a nipple and Jim laughed weakly, oversensitive, as he pulled Leonard up to his mouth.

They wrapped tiredly around each other, one of Jim’s legs hitched over Leonard’s waist. Both men were far too sensitive for the intimate contact, but it was well worth it. They pressed stickily together, wrapped tight in each other’s arms.

“Four’s a new record,” Jim mumbled, when they were both already half asleep.

“Hm?” Leonard buried his face further into Jim’s neck and sighed softly.

“I’ve only ever gotten three, only ever on a good day. I think we should try for five next time,” he said, grinning tiredly against Leonard’s ear.

“I think next time it’s your turn,” Leonard growled half-heartedly, but he was still feeling the aftershocks of the single most powerful orgasm he’d ever had; he’d be lying if he said he didn’t want that again in the future, although he wouldn’t be letting Jim anywhere near him with flavored anything anytime soon.

Jim huffed a laugh against his neck, but Leonard was already asleep. Jim pulled the covers up higher over their shoulders and pressed even closer, reveling in the exquisite warmth of Leonard’s body.

Yeah, Jim could get used to this.


	2. Chapter 2

Despite how awfully he missed Leonard in the following weeks, they passed in a blur. They barely managed to speak to each other every couple of days; usually it was just a quick phone call. The one long phone call had been somewhat of an accident; Jim had meant to leave him a message while he stroked himself off before bed, but then Leonard picked up, and they’d stayed on the phone until two in the morning. It started as phone sex and turned into declarations of how much they missed each other.

That had been two weeks ago, and Jim hadn’t heard from him in a few days, so it was a no-brainer as to why he woke up painfully hard from a dream in which he’d gotten Leonard to come no less than seven times.

He rolled out of bed with a curse, checking the clock with another. He was already late - had he turned off his alarm or slept straight through it? - and didn’t have time to take proper care of his morning wood. Jim rummaged through his dresser for a clean pair of underwear and headed into the tiny bathroom for a shower. He didn’t intend for it to be a cold one, but his heater had gone out a few days earlier and his landlord had yet to replace it, so cold showers were all Jim had to work with.

At least it took care of his erection.

By the time he got out of the shower, he had a missed call and a voicemail, and let it play on speaker while he got dressed.

 _“Jim, it’s Nyota. The kid you’ve had your eye on for the last couple days finally made his call. Well, his brother did. You’re due at the precinct as soon as possible. Cornell Flanaghan, age seventeen; wanted for assault with intent to kill.”_ Jim swore under his breath, struggling to get his tie on straight. _“Kid’s barely even half the size of the smallest guy in the group, Jim. There’s no way he put four of them in the ICU.”_ Nyota hung up without so much as a farewell.

“Well,” Jim muttered to himself, because he was irritated with his tie. He ripped the knot loose and started over again. “It’s not our job to speculate about who’s guilty and who isn’t.” He finally managed to get the knot secure, but it was still crooked; he was out of time to fix it, though. He swore loudly and obscenely while he pulled on his shoes, and realized with quiet dejection that he had almost no food. The only quick and edible thing was the box of Little Debbie powdered donuts he’d bought at least four days ago, and there was only one tiny little ring left in the box.

With nothing better to eat, Jim snatched the box and shoved the donut into his mouth. There was cold coffee in the carafe on the counter, but he didn’t have time to heat it. He filled up a travel mug and clamped the lid on, grabbed his briefcase off the tiny kitchen table, and double checked his pockets for keys, wallet, phone. Then he was out the door, still chewing through the stale pastry, and unlocked his car. It was an older model BMW with rust spots in the floorboards and holes in the back seat, but it drove like a dream.

Except for today, apparently; Jim shoved the key into the ignition and turned it, expecting the engine to cough like it usually did, but nothing happened. Not even the  _click_ of the alternator trying to turn over.

Jim stared down at the steering wheel, dumbfounded.

“Fuck.”

He shoved open the door and took his keys with him. He was now cold, tired, drinking cold coffee, late, had eaten nothing but a tiny donut, and his car wouldn’t start.

He grabbed his briefcase and slammed the door shut, wondering how on earth he was going to get down to the precinct. Right as he was about to resort to calling a cab, he spotted the bus approaching from the end of the street.

Jim barely made it in time, swinging up onto the bottom step right as the doors started to close. He flashed the bus pass he’d gotten from his job, but hadn’t even used since he started working there, and settled into a seat near the exit.

The bus, luckily, was headed straight towards the police station. All Jim needed to do was get off, and managed to get something right for the first time all morning.

Except, he was starving. He’d barely eaten, and Leonard would probably flay him alive if he knew. Worse, he wouldn’t even get a chance to eat for another few hours, if Flanaghan signed Jim on as his lawyer.

By the time he walked into the precinct his coffee was gone, his stomach was growling, and he realized he’d forgotten to put on deodorant. He stopped at the front desk for Flanaghan’s file and waited while the man at the desk signed him in. There was cheap coffee available in the lobby, and while the officer checked his credentials, he refilled his mug.

“Flanaghan is in interrogation room four,” the officer mumbled, already turning back to the crossword puzzle sitting on the desk.

Jim shoved the file into his briefcase, snapped it shut, and retrieved his badge from the counter. He trudged down the hallway, feeling far too wired. As he neared the door, Jim took a moment to calm his nerves and force his hunger to the back of his mind. He set his hand on the doorknob and turned it, sucking in a breath.

“Mr. Flanaghan,” he greeted brightly, stepping through the door. He set his briefcase, his cup of coffee, and his suit jacket on the cold metal table. “It’s my understanding you’ve asked for a lawyer to be provided for you. Were you read your Miranda Rights?”

Flanaghan, a kid who couldn’t be much older than seventeen, stared sullenly down at his cuffed hands. Jim sized him up curiously. If the charges were true, this kid had one hell of a right hook, but Jim was skeptical, and not just because of the kid’s size. Most guys brought in for assault to this degree didn’t hesitate to look him in the eye. They never thought twice about getting in his face. This kid? He flinched when Jim reached for his coffee too quickly.

“I’ll take that as a yes. Mr. Flanaghan, you should know that everything you say to me is completely confidential. I am legally bound and obligated to give you the best representation I can. In the eyes of the law, you are innocent until proven guilty.” Jim paused, lowering his head so he could get a peek at the kid’s eyes, although he still wouldn’t look at Jim. “As far as I’m concerned, you’re just innocent.”

Flanaghan shifted in his seat, pulling his heavy yellow boots back under his chair and slouching so his ass hung further off the edge of the seat. The kid looked like it had been a few days since he’d last eaten. His ribs were outlined against the worn fabric of his tank top, his wrists bony and marked from fighting for dumpster rights. Jim meandered to the far side of the table and stood behind the extra chair, leaning onto his hands placed on the back of it. He gazed at the kid with as much scrutiny as he dared, given the allegations against him.

“It says in your file you grew up in LA. Is that true?” Jim pulled the chair out and sat down, picking up his coffee for a quick sip. As expected, it was burnt, lukewarm, and thoroughly disappointing. It was all he had for the time being, so he grimaced and swallowed a mouthful before setting it back down. The kid continued to ignore him, chewing on his pale, chapped lips and picking at a rusty groove in the table, probably left behind from some thug pounding his cuffed wrists in a temper tantrum. “I’m from Iowa, myself,” Jim offered, spreading his hands in an open gesture. He tried not to let the irritation of being ignored get to him. Small talk was not one of Jim’s fortes, despite his profession. He could haggle and argue until the cows came home, but put him in front of a total stranger, and he usually fell flat.

Jim hated being ignored. He sighed softly and reached into his briefcase, extracting a pack of mints, and opened the tiny metal container. He held it out, offering one to the kid.

The kid curled his hand into a fist, the knuckles straining from the effort. Then he let go and leaned forward, reaching, but Jim held it just far enough that he was forced to sit up if he wanted one. Flanaghan sighed and scooted his ass back in the chair, taking three mints from the container. Jim showed no reaction, and watched the kid shove them greedily into his mouth.

Jim adopted a more business-like tone. “Mr. Flanaghan, my name is James Kirk, and I’m going to be representing you in your case against the…” Jim dug around in his briefcase for the file, until he managed to come up with the name of the prosecutor’s client. “Montenegro boys.” The kid sucked in a breath like he’d been punched in the gut and his bottom lip wavered. Jim continued, his eyes softening. “The only way I can help you is if you tell me everything, leave nothing out, and trust that I’m not going to hang you out to dry. Do you think you can do that?”

There was a snapping and crunching as the kid chewed on the mints, his brow creasing in concentration. The kid frowned and folded his hands together on the table. For the first time, he lifted his gaze to Jim’s face.

“Mr. Flanaghan,” Jim said quietly, opening his file. He pulled out the photographs of the four boys in the hospital. Two of them were still unconscious. “Did you do this?”

The kid barely looked at the photographs before cinching his eyes tight, his hands gripping each other tight enough to break. Jim pressed his lips into a line, watching the kid’s internal struggle.

“Mr. Flanaghan,” Jim repeated, sounding to himself like a broken record, and the kid’s eyes and mouth snapped open, spitting at him.

“My name is Cory!” His mouth snapped shut again, lips pressing together to stop them from trembling. Jim recognized that look. Whether he was being framed or falsely accused, Jim knew one thing was for sure. He was not guilty.

Jim waited a beat, let the fire settle out in the kid’s face as he nodded. “Okay. Cory, I need you to confirm whether you want me for your lawyer. It’s perfectly all right if you don’t, but if I’m not the right guy, we need to get you the right lawyer as soon as possible.” As he spoke, he tucked the photographs back into the file, hiding them from sight.

Cory looked like he was about to implode, but he nodded. He untwisted his hands and set them flat on the table, pressing downward to hide the tremors. “I want you to be my lawyer.”

Without a word, Jim shoved his hand across the table. After a beat of silence, Cory shook it, his hand clammy in Jim’s grasp. Jim squeezed warmly and dropped it again.

“Cory, I’m going to do everything I can to help you, all right?” Cory nodded again, folding his arms across his chest and shoving his hands into his armpits. The kid opened his mouth to talk for the first time. Jim settled back in his chair with his mug, listening intently.

Three hours, two cups of coffee, and one pizza later, Jim finally left the precinct. He felt like the three cups of coffee he’d drained while in the interrogation room were still coursing through his veins, but the pizza he’d shared with Cory seemed to help. He stopped at the security desk and allowed them to scan his briefcase. (What was he going to smuggle out? A chair? Cory?) He drummed his fingers impatiently on the counter, and the moment the officer handed back his things, he bolted.

When he finally made it out the side door and to the bus stop, it was a little after four, but there wasn’t much point in heading to City Hall. He pulled out his phone and dialed the front desk to inform Nyota he wouldn’t be coming in, and let her know Cory had approved him for counsel. While he was on the phone, the bus pulled up, and he climbed on as he dug his ID out of his pocket.

He arrived at his apartment complex a quarter after five and made a beeline for his door, taking the stairs three at a time.

Home for Jim Kirk was little more than a bedroom connected to an open kitchen far off in downtown LA. He was pretty sure it had termites and fleas and God only knows what else, but the rent was cheap and he hadn’t really needed a nicer place, not that he could afford it on the city’s dime.

The moment the door shut behind him, he tore his tie from his neck and stripped haphazardly out of his suit. He left it in pieces on the floor, leaving a trail towards the bathroom. He managed to extract his phone before discarding his pants on the bed, and opened a message from Leonard.

 _ **Don’t forget, dinner’s at seven.**_ Sent fifteen minutes earlier, right when Jim should have been getting off work. Jim rolled his eyes, as if he could forget that he was actually going to get to see his boyfriend for the first time in far too long. In the three seconds after receiving the message that it took him to unlock the screen, he got another.

_**Don’t spoil your appetite.** _

Jim scoffed and sent back, _What are you, my mother?_ He worked his tongue over his teeth, searching out any remnants of the pizza he’d eaten for lunch as he wandered into the bathroom to shower. This one actually felt good, after the short walk from the bus stop to his apartment. The cold water soothed his skin and made the apartment’s crappy A/C unit feel a little better. He was far too excited about their date, and he nearly forgot to take off his boxers before getting in.

Jim was occasionally floored by how much he missed Leonard. Even when they did have simultaneous down time, they lived on opposite sides of Los Angeles, and Jim wasn’t fond of making the trip home in the early hours of the morning. It had been far too long since Jim could run his hands over Leonard’s strong, furry body. Jim was jonesing for a Bonesing and yeah, he really just thought that as he stepped into the shower.

He couldn’t hold back a chuckle at his own expense, even as he soaped up his arms and chest and let his hands wander a little further south than they should have. The cold water didn’t help, and it took him longer than usual to spend himself in his hand.

By the time he got out of the shower, it was ten to six, and he still had forty minutes before he needed to leave the apartment. He really shouldn’t have been nervous about a date with Leonard, but there’d been so much emphasis on it - Leonard was taking him to a fancy French restaurant downtown, and after digging through a year’s worth of messages, he’d realized it was their anniversary.

Even as he got dressed in the requested black tie attire, complete with black slacks, a white button-down, and a fitted suit jacket, he still had a knot of nerves sitting in the pit of his stomach. The final touches on his outfit were the lavender boutonniere that had been sitting on his doorstep with a hastily scrawled note in Leonard’s handwriting that instructed him to put it on and be waiting at the curb at six thirty.

So that’s what Jim did, and he was standing on the sidewalk with his hands in his pockets when Leonard pulled up in his sleek black Lexus, the windows rolled down and some old guttural country tune winding its way out of the car.

“You couldn’t just let me meet you there?” Jim teased, unfolding his hands when Leonard rose up out of the car. He looked stunning, dressed similarly in black, only his button-down was the same color as Jim’s boutonniere, and he was sporting a white lily in his breast pocket.

“‘Course not,” Leonard chided, coming around the front of the car. His shirt wasn’t even buttoned to his clavicle, and there was hair peeking up around the edges that made Jim’s mouth water just thinking about the last time he’d seen it. “You look great, darlin,” Leonard murmured, and Jim let himself be pulled into the warm circle of his arms. Before Jim could return the compliment, a warm hand was cupping his jaw and bringing their mouths together. Somehow, after a year of soft greetings such as this, Jim was still stunned by the sweetness conveyed in such a simple gesture.

“You look good, too,” Jim stammered out ungracefully, once Leonard finally released him.  “Car’s out, anyway.” Jim slid his hands up his biceps, kneading into the muscles as he went, and smiled coyly up at his lover. “What says the good doctor to a night in, instead?” Jim swayed closer, sliding one hand around the back of Leonard’s neck to pull him in for another kiss, this one with a little more teeth and a little less sugar. Jim didn’t pull away until they were both breathless and he could feel Leonard pressing against him, but the doctor covered Jim’s hands and steered them firmly away.

“Maybe next time, Jim. We’ve got a reservation.” Before Jim could protest further, Leonard was opening the passenger door and guiding him down onto the seat, shutting him in.

Leonard slid into the driver’s seat and flashed him a smile. As they pulled away from the curb, Leonard laced their fingers together, and Jim relished the warmth that spread through his chest. From the flowers in their breast pockets to the French architecture that loomed overhead when they pulled up, everything about tonight seemed formal and romantic.

After parking under the entryway, Leonard stepped out of the car and handed off the keys to the valet along with a smile. He quickly made his way around to Jim’s side to open the door for him, something Jim wasn’t yet used to, even after a year together.

Despite all his worrying about the high-end restaurant, Jim still looked up in awe at the intricate carvings over the entrance, and let Leonard’s hand at the small of his back guide him forward. They walked through the glass double doors, and didn’t have to wait more than a few minutes. Jim passively wondered how much extra Leonard promised on the bill, but he didn’t have long to think about it before the hostess was whisking them off to a little table next to a street window.

In true McCoy style, Leonard slid Jim’s chair out for him, and seated himself across. Jim promptly reached across the table to clasp one of Leonard’s hands in his. He toyed with the long, slender fingers, tracing patterns across Leonard’s knuckles.

“You’ve been quiet,” Leonard observed, mirroring Jim’s posture and leaning over the table. He reached for the decanter of ice water and poured each of them a glass before setting it down.

“Just drinking you in,” Jim replied, smiling softly at him over the candle in the center of the table. The lights in the place were low and as such, the candle cast shadows over Leonard’s face.

“Sure, Jim,” Leonard smirked, closing his hand over Jim’s. “How was your month?” He asked, turning his hand over so Jim could continue trailing his fingers over more skin. Jim smiled at the joke, but really, his month had been awful. Going without Leonard for so long had been somewhat of a wakeup call to how much he truly enjoyed being around him.

“Fine,” Jim sighed, shaking his head. “Got a doozy of a case this morning.”

“The one you’ve been watching?”

“Yup.” Jim pressed his lips together, thinking back to the way Cory had explained how horrible the Montenegro brothers had made his life hell in the past six months, and all over something entirely beyond his control.

“Want to talk about it?” Leonard asked, taking Jim’s hand for a reassuring squeeze.

“Can’t,” Jim grimaced. “Not here, anyway. It’s confidential.”

Leonard hummed softly and picked up his glass, letting the silence settle comfortably over them. Jim smiled quietly, admiring the way the suit seemed to drape itself neatly over Leonard’s broad shoulders, the way the lavender stood out against the black jacket. He looked down at their hands, still joined in the middle of the table.

“So, uh,” Jim started, trying to decide how to proceed. “Happy anniversary?” He said, voice turning uncertainly at the end of it, and Leonard chuckled softly. He picked Jim’s hand up and turned it over, kissing his palm.

“I wasn’t so sure you’d remember,” he confessed, but he was still smiling, so Jim rolled his eyes.

“Of course I remember,” Jim huffed, giving Leonard’s hand a squeeze.

“Can you really blame me?” Leonard teased, enveloping his large hands over Jim’s fingers. “Didn’t you tell me you’d never even been in a relationship this long?”

“Well, yeah, but that doesn’t mean I’m not paying attention.”

“Good,” was all Leonard said, smiling softly over the candle at him. They sat in comfortable silence for about another minute before their waiter came over for their orders, and Leonard started them off with drinks. “I’ll have your top shelf bourbon, and Jim here will have a gin and tonic.” He paused, looking across the table at him. “Unless he wants something different?”

“Gin and tonic would be great,” Jim grinned, pulling his hands back from the middle of the table. The waiter set down a basket of steaming bread and a small bowl filled with individually wrapped servings of butter.

“I’ll be right back with those,” the waiter smiled, and scurried off to the bar.

“I didn’t mean to order for you,” Leonard said apologetically, but Jim waved it away as he picked up the heel on his side of the basket.

“You know what I like.” He picked up one of the gold-encased rectangles and unwrapped it, careful not to get butter on his fingers.

“Yeah, you like raising your cholesterol on a daily basis,” Leonard muttered, watching Jim spread the entire serving of butter on his bread. He reached for a piece in the middle and tore off a chunk with his teeth, sans butter.

“Hey, I work out, I’m allowed to eat things that are bad for me,” Jim protested, shoving the bread into his cheek in order to talk.

Leonard laughed, “That’s not how it works,” as he shook his head, and Jim smiled at the sound.

“Whatever, Doctor McCoy. How is life as the Chief of Surgery?”

“Oddly enough, rather dull. It’s mostly paperwork right now. The old Chief is still in office showing me the ropes, so technically I’m Chief in name only. I’m stuck filling out all the paperwork while Puri gets to go around doing surgeries,” he grumbled, ripping his bread apart with his fingers.

“That sucks,” Jim frowned sympathetically. “How long ‘til Puri actually steps down?”

“Only a couple days, now. They wanted to announce it at this big banquet on Saturday. Be my date?”

“Like you have to ask,” Jim grinned, leaning back as their drinks arrived. They clinked glasses over the center of the table while the waiter whipped out a pad and pencil, turning first toward Leonard for his order.

He proceeded to order two of the five course meals, complete with wine pairings orchestrated by a certified sommelier. Jim was left gaping at him as the waiter left the table.

“Might want to pick your jaw up, Jim,” Leonard smirked, taking a sip of his bourbon.

“Surely you don’t expect to pay for this yourself,” Jim said, leaning forward.

“As a matter of fact, I do. I’ve just gotten a promotion, which means a pay increase, and I thought I told you tonight was my treat.”

“Your treat is a meal that costs a hundred bucks, Bones.”

“What grown man refers to a hundred dollars as ‘bucks’?” Leonard deflected, and concentrated on straightening up the doily the candle was standing on.

“Me, I do,” Jim said quickly. “And you’re avoiding the question.”

“You didn’t ask a question,” Leonard pointed out, briefly meeting Jim’s gaze. He sighed after a moment. “Look,” he sat up and leaned forward, snatching Jim’s hand before he could pull it away. “Is this always going to be an issue with you?”

“It’s been a year, and you have to ask that question? Yes,” Jim stated, allowing his irritation to slip away as Leonard rubbed the webbing of his thumb.

“It’s been a year, and you expect me to make you pay for your dinner?”

“Bones,” Jim sighed, rubbing his chin. “It’s not like that. It’s supposed to be a two way street.”

“I know you make enough, kid. S’not about that, never has been. It’s in my nature, all right?”

“Yeah, so you’ve always said,” Jim muttered, covering his mouth. He set his elbow on the table and studied Leonard’s face for a moment. “I just feel… You pay for a lot of things, Bones.”

“Why is that a bad thing?” He raised an eyebrow. “Why is it bad that I want to pay for things?”

“Because you know that I can’t,” Jim snapped with barely contained irritation, tight-lipped and looking at Leonard without concealing any of his emotions. Leonard’s lips parted in surprise, his breath tumbling out on a soft exhale. The first course approached before he could reply, and Jim pulled his hand free so the waiter could set the plates down before them.

“Can we change the subject?” Leonard asked, once they were alone again, and Jim waved a hand in agreement.

“What are we eating?” Jim asked, poking at the elegant display on his plate. The waiter had left with their empty drink glasses, leaving behind the wine paired with the dish, and Jim found himself longing for the bitterness of the gin again.

Jim lost track of what Leonard was saying after hearing _‘hors d’oeurves’_ , which he automatically assumed meant _snail_. Whatever was on his plate certainly didn’t look like snail; didn’t taste like it much, either, although it left a pleasant flavor behind. He picked up his wine and sipped from it, and the flavors intensified.

Soon, they were both swiping their forks through the leftover sauces on their plate, longing for more. The waiter, busboy in tow, returned with two small dishes of lemon sorbet, rattling off a rehearsed explanation about how it was meant as a palate cleanser.

The fish course came next.

“Are you dying to tell me about this case yet?” Leonard teased, sliding the thinly sliced citrus to the side.

“I am, but I really shouldn’t discuss it here,” Jim lamented, throwing him an apologetic look. Leonard shrugged, and steered the conversation in another direction. They talked about mostly insignificant things until the main course arrived.

This, Leonard explained after the waiter and busboy had left, was the fois gras.

“What were you saying about eating things that are bad for me?” Jim smirked, but it took some self-motivation before he could bring himself to actually taste what was on his plate. If he let himself forget it was duck liver, it actually wasn’t half bad. They lingered over the main course for a little while, now that they weren’t distracted by hunger.

“How’s your day been?” Leonard asked, just before taking a long sip of wine.

“Started off pretty terrible,” Jim admitted, breathing in the aroma of his own wine. “Woke up late. Water heater broke two days ago. All I had for breakfast was a tiny little donut and day-old coffee. Car wouldn’t start.”

“Your landlord sure is slacking,” Leonard frowned. “That whole complex looks like it’s falling apart. Nevermind the fact that your actual apartment is smaller than a house boat.”

“I like my apartment,” Jim muttered, looking down at his plate.

“You like that it’s a twenty minute commute from your job? You like having three separate deadbolts? You _like_ not having a water heater?” Leonard leaned forward until Jim looked at him. “I know it’s your place, but come on, your landlord is a real piece of work.”

Jim shook his head slowly, lips pursed. “I know you don’t like it. I’m saving up, Bones. Can’t do that if I move to another place.”

Leonard grunted in acknowledgement; they’d had this talk more than once before, and it always ended the same: Leonard sulking over Jim’s determination to keep living in a place that barely looked like it should even be standing. “You should go grocery shopping,” Leonard griped, if only to have something else to complain about, and Jim smirked.

“I know. Just didn’t have much time this week. And payroll was late.”

Leonard frowned deeply. “Jim, you know if you need money, you can always -”

“Don’t,” Jim warned, eyes flashing up to his face. They seemed unable to find safe ground and settle on a suitable topic, and this one was no exception.

“You can always ask,” Leonard finished anyway, meeting Jim’s gaze evenly. Jim sighed and gritted his teeth, his eyes never leaving Leonard’s face as the waiter dropped by with new entrees. The busboy whisked away their empty plates and glasses.

Jim finally broke away from the staring contest to find a plate full of greens before him. “Rabbit food,” Jim snorted, once the waiter was out of earshot.

“French food isn’t all bad for you,” Leonard replied stonily. That entree passed in silence, each reflecting quietly on the course of the conversation.

Maybe Jim _could_ tell him about the case; he’d just have to do it quietly and underneath the hum of the numerous other conversations taking place. Over the cheese plate, he picked up the earlier thread of conversation with ease.

“I’m helping this kid,” he started, and Leonard bit back a knowing smirk as if he’d just been waiting for Jim to crack. “He’s lived here his whole life, right?” Jim picked up a pear slice and a slice of cheese, and placed them on his tongue at the same time.

“Sure,” Leonard nodded, still smirking at him in amusement.

“There’s this gang that’s basically had it out for him since one of their members’ dads left his family for my client’s mom.”

“Wow.” Leonard raised his eyebrows and bit into a piece of fruit, gesturing for Jim to continue.

“So, not long ago, four of the gang members wound up in the hospital.”

“Oh, yeah,” Leonard’s eyes widened. “I know about that. Puri operated on one of them yesterday.”

“Really?” Jim frowned. “Huh. We were told they were all basically in the clear, but two of them were in a coma.”

“Internal bleeding that some kid managed to miss, even though there were contusions on his back the idiot should’ve seen,” Leonard shook his head slowly, scowling at the incompetence the new wave of interns brought in.

“Oh,” Jim frowned, chewing thoughtfully. “Well, anyway. Four guys in the hospital, right? They’re all in their early twenties. Meanwhile, this kid is seventeen - I shouldn’t have told you that - and he weighs like… nothing. I mean nothing, this kid wouldn’t make a living as a _paperweight_.”

“Skinny?”

“Emaciated. This whole thing started years ago, escalated recently. The gang leader… uh, ordered a hit, I guess? Took out the kid’s stepdad first, then his mom. He’s had a pretty rough life. His oldest brother had to take them all in and now they live in a tiny apartment and the guy is barely making enough to pay rent. So, I… bought lunch today.”

“Of course you did,” Leonard smiled.

“Yeah… Anyway,” Jim smiled sheepishly, licking pear juice from his thumb. “These four guys in the hospital, no way this kid managed it unless he’s got a steamroller hidden in his right hook, and they’re trying to charge him with attempted murder.” Jim shook his head slowly.

“Jim…” Leonard started, breaking the last piece of cheese in half and handing it to him. He did the same with the last slice of pear, and chewed over both the food and Jim’s case thoughtfully. “I’ve seen the guys. I know what gang they’re a part of. This guy… He’s dangerous, Jim.” Leonard paused, gaze unfocused as he searched his memories. “Like, extremely dangerous.”

“Yeah, I know,” Jim nodded, going for the abandoned bread the moment the cheese was gone. “And this kid has no way of paying for a lawyer. I’m all he’s got.”

“Jim… you don’t understand. I’ve seen what this guy does to people.”

“And I’ve seen what he did to his own gang members,” Jim frowned.

“It’s not a contest, kid, I… I don’t like this. I wish you weren’t on this case. You could become a target.”

Jim sat up straight in his chair, his face alert and guarded. “Really,” he snorted, picking up his wine. He swallowed a large mouthful. “That’s great, but I’m not dropping it.” So much for a safe topic.

“Jim,” Leonard ground out, still hunched over the table. He kept his voice low, and there was a desperate note to his voice that Jim hadn’t heard before. “This guy doesn’t just hurt people. He _tortures_ them. I’m talking waterboarding, starvation, broken fingers, interrogation type stuff that SEALs wouldn’t be able to handle.”

Leonard was forced to lean off the table when the waiter returned, carting small, elegant dishes of crème brûlée.

The entire time the waiter talked about the ingredients, how they were all fresh and organic and local, there was a roar in Jim’s ears that prevented him from hearing it.

The whole evening had been one shortcoming after another. His apartment wasn’t good enough - which Jim had to admit was true, but that didn’t mean he liked hearing it from Leonard; his job was apparently too dangerous; he was apparently expected to let Leonard pay for their expensive meal _and_ ask him for grocery money (fat chance in Hell of that happening, ever); and to top it all off, Leonard was sitting there like he had a _right_ to voice these opinions, like he had a right to make Jim feel like he wasn’t good enough or didn’t make enough.

Leonard was halfway through saying something about the dish - probably something about how it was _good enough_ \- when Jim pushed his chair back and abruptly stood up. Leonard’s words came to a fumbling halt.

“Jim?”

“Despite your apparent lack of faith in me, I am a grown man and I can, in fact, take care of myself.” The tables around them fell in a hush, and if Jim wasn’t so full of enraged betrayal, he might actually find it comical. His hands were shaking, though, so he balled them up at his sides.

“Jim, would you sit down?” Leonard asked lowly, glaring at the people around them. The conversations picked up one by one, but Jim shook his head.

“I want to go home,” he said firmly, and stepped aside to push in his chair.

“Wait a minute, Jim,” Leonard hissed. “This is still our anniversary, please sit down.”

“And have you judging me the rest of the night? I don’t think so. Take me home.”

“I’m not - judging you? Who’s judging you?” Leonard frowned.

“I want to go home,” Jim said again. “I’m going to go to the bathroom, and then I want to go home. To my shitty apartment, in my shitty neighborhood, with my shitty water heater and my shitty, empty fridge. _Alone_.”

Jim turned on his heel, striding purposefully towards the bathroom. The waiter flashed him a smile as they crossed paths, and it fell immediately when they noticed the dark expression on his face.

It took another four and a half minutes of arguing and insisting once he returned to the table, but Leonard finally caved. He paid quietly, his movements stiff, and then he was steering Jim out of the restaurant. They made it ten steps before Jim pulled away from the hand on his back, and he didn’t let Leonard open the front door for him this time. They waited in tense silence for the valet to bring Leonard’s car around, and Jim opened the car door for himself, too.

The ride back to his apartment was thick with Jim’s anger. Leonard knew enough to keep his mouth shut, but he was seething quietly as well.

When the car rolled to a stop at the curb, Leonard shut off the engine and got out. He hadn’t even rounded the front before Jim was shoving his own door open and stomping across the yard.

“Jim!” Leonard called out, tailing after him. He set a hand on Jim’s arm and pulled him around, and the man spun with a wild look in his eyes.

“What?” He hissed, blinking furiously. “Want to complain about my apartment some more? It’s right here, go ahead. Or maybe you want to tell me how shitty my car is, too.”

“Of course not,” Leonard scoffed, his fingers digging into Jim’s elbow.

“Yes, you do, go ahead,” Jim snarled, wrenching his arm free. He straightened his jacket and, noticing the flower out of his peripheral vision, ripped the boutonniere out of his pocket. He crumpled it in his fist and furiously loosened his tie. The problem was, his anger was running out, and giving way to the confusing array of emotions beneath it.

“Jim, I don’t know why you’re so mad at me,” Leonard said with forced deadpan; he was angry because Jim was angry, and Jim was angry because Leonard wanted to protect him.

No, he was _hurt_ because Leonard wanted to protect him. He was angry because Leonard wanted to do it by taking away everything Jim stood for when he asked Jim to pass up the case.

“Bullshit you don’t know,” Jim hissed, stepping forward. He pressed the flower into Leonard’s hand but didn’t pull away, choosing instead to glare at him with just a few inches between them.

“All right, fine, I do know,” Leonard growled back. “You’re upset because I want you to be safe, right?”

“Of course it sounds stupid when you say it like that,” Jim ground out between clenched teeth. “It’s more than that. You can’t just…” He trailed off, anger swallowing his words

“What?” Leonard demanded, taking a step closer. “I can’t want things for you? Want you to be happy? Want to provide for you? We’ve been at this for a year, Jim; we’ve been around this before and you know damn good and well we’re gonna go over this again in a few months, so why don’t you tell me what’s really bothering you? Tell me why you just walked out on dessert. Tell me the _truth_ and maybe I can _fix it_.”

Jim’s hands opened and closed at his sides, and the next thing he knew, Leonard was kissing him. It was bruising and possessive and Jim whined into it. Leonard’s large hands were splayed across Jim’s neck and jaw, holding him in place, while Jim fisted his hands in the lapels of his jacket and pulled him closer. It was angry and desperate, teeth clicking together, and then Jim shoved Leonard up against the wall of the complex.

He bit down harshly on Leonard’s lower lip, just barely able to soothe the sting with his tongue. Leonard’s hands moved down to Jim’s hips, roughly pulling him closer.

“I just want you,” Leonard ground out, moving down over Jim’s jaw to his neck. He was less than kind to the dip in his collar bone, and when Jim sagged at the onslaught of his mouth, Leonard held him up. “To be happy,” he added, punctuating the sentence with hard, quick pecks back up Jim’s neck.

“And I,” Jim bit out, shoving them apart, “am happy. When you’re not making me feel like a hooker, I am happy.”

“Damnit, Jim,” Leonard said hoarsely, bringing a hand up to wipe his mouth. His jaw worked for a moment, but Jim cut in before he could continue.

“I’m not your charity case.” And with that, he shoved Leonard aside and disappeared through the gate.

“Don’t be such a petulant _child_ ,” Leonard called after him, and it sounded like much more of an insult than anything else he could have said.

It made Jim stop in his tracks and turn, jaw clenched. Leonard waited, breathing, hoping Jim would just…

Jim shook his head slowly and turned away from him, storming up the stairs to his apartment. Leonard watched the whole way, until the peeling peach-colored door slammed shut.

∞

Leonard didn’t expect Jim to just get over it. They’d had this fight before, though not nearly to this degree. It had never been about a case, and in hindsight, Leonard knew he’d overstepped his bounds.

But Christ, what person in their right mind _wants_ to take on a gang? It was like Jim had some kind of death wish. Actually, a death wish was something Leonard should’ve anticipated. The moment Jim told him about the ravine incident, he’d known that Jim was trouble. Hell, that’d been the night they met.

Jim had spoken colorful poetry about that car. Candy apple red, gas pedal weighed down by a brick in the form of his right foot. That had been his pick-up line. _“I once drove a car into a ravine,”_ he’d said, sliding a double bourbon in front of Leonard on the bar.

And Leonard, lonely and already riding a buzz, had turned to him with a raised eyebrow.

 _“It was a neat trick,”_ the blond had grinned, giving away blood-stained teeth that told Leonard he had just been in a fight. _“Red Corvette. I nearly died.”_

 _“But you didn’t,”_ Leonard drawled, draining half his glass.

 _“Here I am,”_ the kid had spread his hands wide. _“Don’t that just make you wanna fuck?”_

_“Not particularly. Just wanna drink my drink and let you keep tryin’ to pick me up.”_

Jim had thrown back his head with laughter, clapping a hand to Leonard’s shoulder. _“Please, I had you at Corvette.”_

He’d been right, but Leonard still made him work for it. Three dates later, Jim confessed that he’d been twelve at the time, and that was when Leonard knew that Jim had this weird obsession with putting his life in danger, some kind of knack for toeing the line between what would kill him and what would _almost_ kill him.

This time, Leonard feared Jim was going to cross that line. Jim was a creature driven by emotions; when he was twelve, his stepfather Frank had blindly insulted Jim’s biological father. Leonard knew that Jim’s dad died a hero, although Jim had yet to come to him with the how and the why, and he also knew that Frank had showed violent tendencies.

So when Frank stumbled home one night and discovered Jim eating a snack at two in the morning, he’d tried to fling his keys in Jim’s face, but missed by a wide margin.

Jim had waited until Frank stumbled back to the bedroom before picking up the keys. The next morning, right before the sun stretched itself over the horizon, Jim had pulled on his beat up leather jacket and hauled ass out of the house. He’d pulled back the cover to the dusty old car, managed to get it running, and driven straight through the garage door.

When Frank showed up at the police station later that afternoon, he was red in the face and dragged Jim out by the back of his neck.

Less than a week later, Frank left, and Jim served his time in the juvenile detention center quite happily.

With his case now, it was the same principle, but Jim was older and arguably wiser. He wasn’t doing this for himself or for his family, he was doing it for the kid’s. Seventeen is an early age to be starving to death, but Leonard didn’t see why it was Jim’s problem.

Apparently, that misunderstanding was enough of a reason for Jim to continue ignoring his calls. It had been five days of radio silence, and Jim had missed the banquet the night before. Leonard hadn’t bothered showing up at his apartment complex.

He was sporting a small hangover when he showed up to work the morning after the banquet, immediately plopping down behind his desk to fill out paperwork and keep his nose out of the operating room.

By mid-morning, his hangover was mostly gone, but there was still the bitter taste of resentment on his tongue. At the turn of every page, he fought the urge to call Jim just one more time. It was Sunday, so Jim couldn’t possibly be in court or working, but he knew without a doubt that the stubborn fool would still send him straight to voicemail.

That was fine with Leonard. He was still fuming over Jim’s reaction to being cared for, but it also meant he was both angry and lonely. He just wanted his damn boyfriend to talk to him.

Hell, he wanted to know Jim was okay. His concerns, though poorly articulated, were legitimate and they were constantly at the back of his mind. He spent his entire emergency room rotation three days earlier thinking every victim of a violent attack might have been Jim. Even the ones described as dark-haired made his gut tighten, because maybe the paramedics were stressed and missed a detail - even one as glaringly obvious as hair color - and that gunshot wound could easily have been Jim, it was definitely in the right neighborhood...

After that, Leonard stayed out of the ER. He couldn’t handle that kind of stress on top of everything else, and it made him unreliable in the operating room, so he bowed out gracefully when he was asked to cover someone else’s shift.

It only made him angrier, knowing that Jim had this hold on him even when they weren’t speaking.

He was out of paperwork by early afternoon, and since he wasn’t in any condition to perform surgery, he had to find something to do; that was how he wound up covering a resident’s clinic hours in exchange for a decent bottle of bourbon. He picked up a patient file from the nurse’s station and thumbed through the patient history, casting a smile at the head nurse.

“Afternoon, Chapel,” he offered, and she glanced up at him.

“Doctor McCoy. Wasn’t expecting to see you on the floor today.” It had been a while since they worked together.

“I’m no good anywhere else today,” he sighed, and shrugged off her sympathetic look. She’d walked in on him leaving an angry voicemail on Jim’s cell, and it only took thirty seconds of her stern glare for him to break and tell her everything. “I’ll be in exam room three if you need me.” He turned away, looking down at the file with a puzzled expression. He entered the room and took one last look back, spotting another nurse leaning against the nurse’s station, heavily out of breath. He was closing the door, and just before it clicked shut, Christine Chapel’s head snapped towards him, her expression troubled.

“Emergencies only,” Leonard prayed quietly, hoping that whatever it was could wait until he was done with his patient.

“Pardon?” The man asked in a warm voice, and Leonard looked up quickly.

“Nothing, sorry. Just muttering to myself, as we doctors do,” he flashed a professional smile and grabbed the stool that sat in the corner, pulling it up in front of the man. He was seated on the bed, still clad in his jeans and shoes, but his shirt was crumpled up on the armchair and his chest covered by a hospital gown. “Alright, Mr…” He consulted the medical records and scoffed at the name, squinting at it for a full ten seconds before giving up. “I am horribly sorry, sir. What’s your name?”

The man fidgeted, scratchin crossly at his neck. “Picard,” he muttered, spelling it out. “Jean-Luc.”

“Gonna wring out the neck of the kid who filed this,” Leonard promised, tossing the form on the bed. “Mr. Picard, what brings you in today?”

“Bit of a persistent cough. Haven’t been able to swallow much other than chicken soup in a few days,” he said, and Leonard noted with sympathy the way his vocal cords sounded like they’d been rubbed down with sandpaper. He reached up under the man’s jaw, feeling for swollen lymph nodes.

“How long have you had the cough?”

“Oh…” Picard hesitated, swallowing thickly. “Couple weeks, at least.”

Leonard hummed thoughtfully, and pulled his fingers away. “Mr. Picard, you may have strep throat. Have you been in contact with the bacteria in the last six to eight weeks?”

He shook his head, reconsidered, and shrugged. Before Leonard could open his mouth and ask another question, a knock sounded at the door.

“Yes?” Leonard hissed with annoyance over his shoulder, and the door opened to reveal Chapel. She looked positively stricken.

She cleared her throat. “Doctor, I hate to interrupt, but there’s something you should see.” She sounded small, timid, and Leonard briefly kicked himself for being so open with his disrespect.

“It’s all right,” he soothed, and gestured towards his patient. “Can it wait?”

Chapel hesitated. “I… suppose? I really think you should come with me, Leonard.”

It was the use of his first name that made him perk up. He nodded uncertainly.

“I’m going to take a swab of your cheek and send it to the lab for testing. It’ll tell us whether or not you have an infection. If it’s positive, you’ll receive a prescription for antibiotics. Take them as directed, all of them.  Don’t stop until they’re gone.”

“Okay,” Picard nodded, unperturbed by the brevity of Leonard’s instruction.

“I’m terribly sorry about this. I swear, it is not a habit.” Leonard retrieved the cotton swab and took the sample.

“Don’t worry about it. Thank you for your time.”

“Of course,” Leonard breathed, and turned on his heel to follow Chapel out. “What is it, Christine?” He asked lowly, pausing momentarily to drop the file and swab at the nurse’s station with instructions to send the sample to the lab.

“It’s Jim,” Chapel said tightly, wringing her hands together.

Leonard’s stomach dropped unpleasantly and she turned, leading him toward the break room. It looked like most of the floor was gathered below the screen, watching as one. Leonard understood instantly that whatever was happening was not good; he’d never, in ten years of working there, been able to hear himself think in the break room. Today, he could’ve heard a pin drop.

Up on the screen was rolling footage of City Hall, a woman standing in front of it telling him that the building was experiencing what could only be described as a hostage situation. It was unknown how many people were being held on the third floor, where Jim’s office was. There had been no contact from inside, and there was no information available about casualties or if there was anyone injured inside.

Leonard sank onto a couch, no longer able to hold himself upright, and raised a shaking hand to his forehead.

“No,” he whispered, pushing his hand back through his hair. He left it there, holding his hair off of his forehead. He stared at the screen, torn between wanting more information and wanting none. “No,” he said again, and this time a few nurses and doctors turned to look at him.

All of them knew of his boyfriend, Jim Kirk the public defender, the noble guy who liked to pretend he was shallow, the man with the heart of gold. Only Christine knew of their fight.

“Somebody get him some ice. If you’re not on a break, get back to work,” Chapel commanded, and the spell broke. The staff sprung into action, most of them scurrying out the door. A few stayed behind; Puri was there, which wasn’t a surprise. M’Benga sat down beside him, and Leonard took his hand when he offered it. Chapel knelt on the floor in front of Leonard, unsure of what to do with her hands.

“Have you heard from him today?” M’Benga asked, and Leonard shook his head with small, jerking movements.

“Been a week,” he muttered. One of the interns returned with a cup of ice chips, and Chapel took it without a single thank you.

“Here, Leonard,” she said softly, offering him a spoonful of ice. He opened his lips and chewed the ice mechanically, staring at the screen but seeing something far off in the distance. “They’re going through a rough patch,” Chapel explained quietly, making sure Leonard was chewing and swallowing. He was paler than she’d ever seen him and his lips, when they weren’t opening for the ice, were pressed into a grim line.

“Chris,” Leonard moaned, bringing one hand to her shoulder. “The last - the last thing I said to him,” he whispered, squeezing perhaps a bit too hard, but Chapel merely closed her hand around his wrist in an attempt to comfort him.

“He knows, Len.”

“I called him a child,” Leonard choked out, and closed his eyes. He mind wasn’t anywhere near the hospital at the moment; he was twenty miles and a week away, remembering the look of betrayal on Jim’s face as he’d turned around that last time. “I’m such an idiot,” Leonard groaned.

“Stop that, there’s no way you could’ve anticipated this.”

“Really?” Leonard replied scathingly, but it wasn’t directed at her or M’Benga. His eyes snapped open, red and brimming. “This was what we fought about. This was why he hasn’t been returning my calls, because I’m too overprotective.” His stomach tightened uncomfortably. “What if… What if he’s…”

“How do you even know that’s who’s doing this?”

“Who else would hold City Hall?”

Christine didn’t have an answer. She pursed her lips and in a low voice said, “He’s not dead, Leonard. How can you think that? You’ve got a fighter on your hands, you’ve known that from the start.”

“But they…”

“He’s gonna be okay,” M’Benga chimed in, squeezing his knee. “You’ve gotta have faith, Len.”

“Faith? Jim’s being held hostage by a gang, and you want me to have faith?”

“What choice do you have?” Chapel asked quietly, and he looked down at her, completely at a loss. “There isn’t anything we can do, Len. You can sit here and beat yourself up over your last conversation, or you can sit here and hope and pray that Jim keeps his head.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Leonard groaned, and dropped his face into his hands. “He’s got such a goddamn hero complex, Chris - if he even _thinks_ he can get them out, he’s gonna try.”

Chapel had no response to that. She looked at M’Benga, and they shrugged at each other.

“Len,” M’Benga said softly, bringing a hand to his back. He started rubbing in wide, slow circles. “Take a breath. We don’t know anything right now. No news is good news, isn’t it?”

“Let’s throw your husband to a pack of wolves and see how you feel about no news,” Leonard snapped, lifting his head to level his scowl at his fellow doctor. M’benga took it in stride, and Chapel turned Leonard’s face back to her.

“You listen here, McCoy,” she said firmly, and he pulled his mouth shut. “Jim Kirk is not going to throw his life away for nothing, you hear me?”

“Yes, Ma’am,” Leonard mumbled. She waited a beat, making sure he understood, before she let go of his chin. “Sorry.”

“It’s alright,” M’Benga murmured, still rubbing at his back. He offered his hand again, and Leonard took it, squeezing hard. He choked on a terrified sob and closed his eyes again, willing this moment to be over.

“Hey, turn up the monitor,” M’Benga snapped his fingers at one of the interns, the one who’d brought Leonard the ice, and the kid scrambled to do so.

“... several victims are now leaving the building. They’re coming in twos and threes; no sign of any hostiles as of yet.”

“Tell me he’s there,” Leonard whispered, unable to bring his eyes up.

“You need to get down there, Len,” Chapel said quietly.

“I can’t, I’ve got… work.”

“I’ll cover your clinic hours,” M’Benga said harshly, and Leonard met his gaze; he was glaring at Leonard. “We’ve got you taken care of, Len, just get down there. Go in with the medics or something. Go find him and tell him you’re sorry, tell him you love him.”

Leonard stared at him, but then found himself vertical, his feet moving of their own accord. He jogged down the hallway and didn’t even bother with the elevator, slamming immediately into the stairwell. He barreled down the steps, wiping furiously at his face as his fear spilled from his eyes.

_Please, God, don’t let Jim be dead._

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are some graphic depictions violence in this chapter. If that bothers you, you may want to skip the scene at City Hall.

The second Jim slammed the door to his apartment, his anger faded away. He fell back against it, pressing his palms over his face, pressing until he started seeing flecks of light behind his eyelids.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d cared about someone enough to get into a fight and actually stick around. Not that he’d done so, but he had no intention of breaking things off with his stubborn idiot of a boyfriend.

Well… Leonard wasn’t an idiot. That wasn’t a fair assessment. Overprotective, maybe. Lovesick fool, sure, but an idiot? Never.

Jim groaned into his hands and lowered them to his side, thankful that he’d at least filled up on bread. He wandered into the kitchen and pulled open his fridge, looking for… something that definitely wasn’t food. He sighed and shut it again. As nice as it sounded, a cold beer was not what he needed.

He pulled out his phone and thumbed in the lock code, unsurprised to see that he had no messages yet. His landlord almost never answered the phone, but Jim had waited three days and still had no hot water. He left a calm and collected message on the machine, politely inquiring as to whether his water heater would be replaced any time soon, and hung up with a clipped, “Thanks.”

With that taken care of, he slid his phone onto the counter and tugged at his tie miserably.

This was not how an anniversary was supposed to go. They should’ve finished their dessert, lingered over another drink, made eyes at each other until one of them caved. He should be in the car with his hand on Leonard’s thigh, kissing him at every stop light, stumbling through the front door already tearing at his clothes.

Instead, he dropped his tie to the floor and shrugged off his jacket, swallowing past the lump in his throat.

Jim couldn’t resist checking his phone again to see if he had any messages, and when there were none, he turned it off. There was no use in checking it obsessively, that would only make matters worse, only encourage him to say he was sorry.

Jim was sorry, but he wanted to hear it from Leonard first, and he didn’t care how petty that was.

He left his phone on the kitchen counter and wandered toward his bed, undoing his belt. Once it was undone, his slacks slid easily to the floor, and he started unbuttoning the white dress shirt as he stepped out of them.

Clad in only boxers, Jim stood in the dark and hugged himself.

It was his pride, Jim figured as he crawled into bed. Pride that made Leonard’s nature hard to swallow, pride that made Jim walk out of that restaurant. Sure, he maybe could have spoken to him about why he was upset, could’ve told him that he needed to let Jim be his own person, but anger and resentment had pushed those thoughts away until Jim was safely tucked under his comforter.

It was his pride that kept him from calling Leonard.

Too bad pride doesn’t keep you warm at night.

∞

Jim didn’t surface from his blankets until well into the morning, and that was only to get up and relieve himself. He made his way toward the kitchen, rubbing at his face as he did so, and set about making himself something to eat. He also dumped out the coffee pot and brewed more, the healthy aroma helping to clear his sinuses.

He’d finally fallen asleep some time around three, but not before crying into a pillow for a little while.

The coffee pot chimed at him to let him know it was ready, and he rinsed out a mug in the sink to use. His oatmeal was ready shortly after and he headed back to bed, clutching a mug and bowl respectively.

Jim didn’t have cable, but he did have a laptop and a Netflix account; he wrapped himself back up in his blankets and ate breakfast while flitting back and forth between shows. He wasn’t in the right mood for a comedy, and at the moment crime dramas turned his stomach. Romance flicks were out of the question, too; in the end, he managed to finish his breakfast before finding something adequate to watch. Mug and bowl empty, he set them on the nightstand and laid down on his side. Sundays were the days he went for a long run and got out of the house.

That day, he decided to skip the business of leaving home altogether. He wasn’t feeling much like a run and he had little money for groceries. He opted for burrowing into his blankets and sleeping for another couple of hours, and when he could sleep no more, he went back to watching television.

By nightfall, he was restless and crabby. His phone, which he’d turned back on after deciding to get up, had only rang once.

His heart skipped when he snatched up the call, even though the ringtone wasn’t right, and he answered the phone with a sullen grunt.

The only good thing that came around that day was the news that his water heater would be replaced by Wednesday.

He spent the rest of the evening tidying up the apartment. There wasn’t a lot to do, other than laundry and dishes.

Jim went to bed by nine thirty, even though he had slept until noon.

The only thing that kept Jim sane over the next five days were the long hours spent working Cory’s case. The days were long and grueling, but he planned them that way. The sooner they put their defense together, the sooner Jim could take on another client.

They spent hours at City Hall going over his alibi, verifying every tiny detail, discussing what tactics the prosecution were going to use. Jim knew the prosecutor, had gone up against her many times. Never had he been so invested in a case. It wasn’t just about winning, it was about keeping Cory safe. It was about putting his life back on track.

It was maybe a little bit about proving to Leonard that he could handle himself, and win the case in the process. But it was mostly about Cory.

Jim had a tendency to keep his phone off while at the office. His car still wasn’t working, so he’d been taking the bus to and from City Hall, usually taking the time on the bus rides to jot down notes from the day. They were typically mundane things, like a reminder to check his office messages or ask Cory about an extraneous detail that the prosecution might not overlook.

On Wednesday, his phone died in the first half of the day. When he got home to charge it, there was the soft ding of a received voicemail. He picked it up without looking, already in the midst of chopping up a salad, and had to lean over slightly in order to leave the phone plugged in.

 _"Jim, it's Leonard. It went straight to voicemail, so I'm going to assume your phone's off. I hope so. I really hope you aren't that childish. I think we need to talk, this has been hanging over our heads for damn near a week now.”_ There was a crackle as something moved about on the other end, and then his voice was back. _“I've been on call for the last thirty six hours, kid, but you work a nine to five. Do you even **wanna** work this out? Have you even tried getting in touch with me? This isn't all my fault, you know. You could've used your damn words, like an adult, but instead you just sat there and let it fester all night long - you didn't even try to stop me from - what did I do, Jim? What's so terrible about me wanting to keep you from getting hurt? What's so wrong about -"_

 _"Doctor McCoy?"_ A muffled voice, sounding decidedly female, interrupted his next train of thought.

 _"What?"_ Leonard replied sharply, but then the line went dead, and Jim was left seething with a chopping knife gripped too tightly in his free hand.

By Friday, he’d gone from supremely pissed off to guilty and hurt; Leonard was right. That didn’t make it any easier to tell him why he was pissed off.

In spite of himself, he sat around all day on Saturday waiting for another phone call. He still half expected Leonard to pick him up for the banquet he’d mentioned the week prior.

When Leonard didn’t show up, Jim wanted to be mad.

Instead, he just felt empty.

∞

The following morning, he got up early and went for a run. It was still mostly dark out - the sun hadn’t yet started coming up over the horizon - and there was a chill in the early morning air that made running pleasant. It was the only reason he got up so early to do so.

By the time he got home, it was almost eight. Late enough in the morning to make phone calls, as far as he was concerned. He first called up Nyota’s desk, relieved when she picked up and told him he wouldn’t be the only one in the office today. It meant he wouldn’t have to get special permission or alert security before hand.

Next, he called the disposable cell phone he’d gotten for Cory so they could keep in touch. It rang twice and then the kid’s sleepy voice greeted him, dark and gravelly with sleep.

_“Jim?”_

“Hey, Cory. Listen, with the trial coming up, I was thinking we could meet today and get in an extra few hours of prep. What do you think?”

 _“Um… Sure.”_ His words were punctuated by a yawn.

“Great,” Jim said, altogether too brightly, “I’ll grab breakfast. Can you meet me there around nine?”

 _“Sure,”_ Cory yawned again. _“See you then.”_

Jim hung up and promptly threw himself in the shower; his morning runs were where he did his best thinking, and usually it was about a case. Today, however, he’d had only one man on his mind, and it certainly hadn’t been a seventeen year old kid. He was running late by the time he got out, and hastily threw on jeans, a dress shirt, and a slim red tie. Sundays at the office were nice. No suffocating suits were required, but Jim still opted for a blazer whenever he met with a client during off hours.

He pulled the black jacket over his shoulders as he left, pocketing his keys, cell phone, and wallet as he did so. After his meeting with Cory today, he’d tell Nyota he wouldn’t be in until noon on Monday, and he’d spend the rest of the afternoon discussing - groveling for it, if he had to - the continuation of their relationship.

He arrived with moments to spare and flung open the main doors to the building, jogging right by Nyota with a box of donuts. The elevators were slow-moving, ancient things on ancient rigging, and he had time to offer her one from the box before it arrived.

If she noticed a change, she didn’t mention it. But she smiled at him, and he smiled back, hoping he didn’t look too eager to get work done for the day.

With most of the public defenders out of the office, including his boss, Jim met Cory at the elevators and directed him straight into the large conference room that faced downtown Los Angeles. He dropped the box of donuts on the big table and disappeared momentarily for a stack of napkins and a cup of coffee.

“So, Cory,” Jim started, pulling his chair up to the far side of the big table, “tell me about your trust fund.”

Over the course of the next half hour, Cory explained that when his brother received custody, his trust fund was transferred over to help pay for Cory’s education and living expenses. Jim took notes dutifully, filling up nearly an entire page of his legal pad in the process.

He had only just opened his mouth to ask another question when the phone at the center of the table started ringing.

“I think it’s for you,” Jim joked, leaning over to press the speaker button.

 _“Jim, it’s me,”_ came Nyota’s voice. Jim perked up immediately, his gaze flickering to Cory. A knot of nerves wrestled around with his intestines, but he forced it away.

“What is it, Ny?” Jim asked, keeping his voice even. He mouthed an apology to Cory, who shrugged and reached for his third donut.

 _“Jim, there’s four men in the building. They’ve got… they’ve got guns. They just - they shot the security team and asked for Public Defense,”_ she choked, stifling a sob.

“Shit,” Jim hissed, glancing toward the elevators. He didn’t care about sounding unprofessional, not when Cory’s eyes had just gone wide. “How long ago?” The ball of nerves convalesced in his gut, engulfing his stomach. He wanted to throw up.

 _“They got on the elevator thirty seconds ago,”_ she sniffed, and Jim wracked his brain for a solution.

“They’re here for him,” he muttered. Cory’s turned toward him, worrying his bottom lip, searching Jim’s face for a sign that it was all a joke. Not for the first time that week, he was reminded of his boyfriend, and had to shove his feelings aside.

_“They’re coming straight for you, Jim.”_

“I know,” he ground out, and shoved his chair back. He grabbed a handful of Cory’s hooded sweatshirt and hauled him over the desk, ignoring his protests. The table was big enough to hide them both, so Jim shoved him underneath it. “They’ll check my office first, Nyota. I’ve got some time. Get everyone out that you can.”

_“Be careful.”_

He didn’t bother replying, just slapped the button to end the call and dropped to a crouch as the elevator doors opened.

“What’s happening?” Cory asked, still off-balance from Jim having shoved him down to the floor.

“Montenegro,” Jim spat, and hated the way Cory’s chest heaved. “Don’t fucking move, okay?” Jim grabbed a fistful of his sweatshirt and brought them nose to nose, glaring into his eyes. He knew he was being a jerk, but he wanted Cory to understand. “Don’t move, don’t make a sound. If they come in here, you _don’t_ exist, got it?”

Cory nodded and opened his mouth.

“I said don’t make a sound,” Jim hissed, and shoved him toward the floor again.

The upside to being in the conference room was that it was not Jim’s usual work space. With an obscene amount of luck, they might not even think to check the room.

The downside to being in the conference room was that the walls were comprised completely of glass.

He stood up, limbs filled with lead. “Listen, Cory,” Jim said evenly, although he felt more like curling up into a ball than anything else. “You’re going to stay right here. No matter what you hear, you don’t come out. Do you understand?”

“Jim, don’t go,” Cory whined, reaching for Jim’s ankle.

“Do you understand?” Jim asked again. Cory’s cool fingers retreated slowly from his skin.

“Yes,” he whispered.

“Good.” And with that, Jim rounded the desk, opening the big glass door just as the four men stepped out. They were all brandishing rifles. The largest one, a man with more gold in his mouth than teeth, pointed his rifle straight at Jim. He was wearing a bright orange Hawaiian print shirt.

“You,” he called out, strolling forward. The three others stepped out after him, and slinked away to start yelling at the other people on the floor, corralling them into the middle of the room. Jim grit his teeth and brought his hands up, placing them on the back of his head. “I know you,” the man laughed deeply. “You’re that _retraso’s_ lawyer.”

“I don’t know who you’re talking about,” Jim replied stonily.

“Sure you do!” The leader guffawed, lowering his rifle so it pointed at the floor. “Flanaghan,” he clarified, grinning maliciously at Jim.

“Oh, Cory? He’s not here. Left about ten minutes ago.” He kept his tone light, conversational, even though his stomach had transformed into a hard pit.

One of the other thugs spun towards him and stalked forward, his rifle pointed at Jim’s head, and Jim dropped to his knees.

“Jesus Christ, don’t shoot!” He wheezed, closing his eyes tightly.

“He’s lying,” the man growled.

“I know,” said the leader. Jim was probing his brain, trying to remember his name; it started with a P. Pete or Parker or Paulo. Paulo sounded right.

The thug grunted and closed the distance, pressing the end of the gun right over Jim’s heart. His entire existence narrowed down to the feel of the muzzle, cold even through his shirt.

“Where is he?”

Jim blinked up at him slowly. “I don’t know,” he managed, without wavering on a single syllable. “I told you, he left -”

“Bullshit,” the man growled, bringing the barrel up under his chin, exposing Jim’s throat as he forced his head up. Jim swallowed. It couldn’t end like this. He didn’t want to die without telling Leonard he was sorry, or hell, that he was right.

“I swear,” Jim choked, tightening his hands in his hair. “Honest to God, I don’t know where he is.”

Paulo snapped his fingers and the next thing Jim knew was darkness.

In it, everything was quiet. There was no gang, no gun, no Cory; there was only him and Leonard, standing side-by-side looking over the edge of a cliff. Jim recognized it as the ravine and, if he looked closely, could see the smoking red remains of the old Corvette at the bottom.

_“I don’t like this, kid.”_

_Why?_ Jim wanted to ask, but he couldn’t get his mouth to work. There was something weighing down his tongue, pressing it into his jaw. His mouth tasted like blood and cotton and regret.

_“I think you should give it up.”_

Give it up? Give what up? His dreams? His job? His life?

_“I just love you too much, Jim. I can’t stand watching you put yourself at risk.”_

_I know_ , Jim wanted to say, to scream. The words wouldn’t come, so instead, he grabbed onto Leonard and kissed him hard, desperate, wanting to make him understand.

When he opened his eyes again, Leonard was gone. There was blood trickling down from his temple and Paulo was seated on a chair in front of him, digging dirt out of his nails with a knife.

_Bones._

“Bout time you woke up,” Paulo grinned, and didn’t say anything more. Jim worked his jaw around the gag tied just a hair too tight, the material pulling his lips back painfully. He grunted instead of spitting an insult at the man. “Take the gag off,” Paulo ordered sharply, and the man from before stepped into his line of view. The gag, as it turned out, was a knotted strip of fabric. It was then that Jim realized he was missing a sleeve.

Jim shook his head to try to clear the pain that was making his thoughts fuzzy, but it only seemed to make it worse.

“Why can’t we just shoot him?” Another man, the least heavyset, whined from behind Paulo.

“Not yet,” Paulo sighed, and Jim’s attention was brought sharply back to him. Yet. “You,” he pointed at the third, who had yet to say anything. “Make sure his hands are tight, then you can let everybody else go.”

His chest constricted and his blood rushed. The others were going to be alright. He, on the other hand, was likely not. He took stock of his surroundings; a support pillar was at his back, his arms looped behind it. For the first time, he wondered what was going to happen to him.

His breakfast attempted to make a reappearance, but he beat it down, concentrating instead on the painful tug on his wrists. The tightening of his restraints brought a fresh wave of pain as his shoulders were wrenched into an awkward angle, his rotator cuff protesting loudly.

“What are you gonna do?” Jim bit out, trying to breathe through the jabs of pain swirling outward from his shoulders. He bared his teeth against it, eyes narrowed to slits.

“We aren’t gonna do anything,” Paulo smirked. “You, however, are gonna tell us exactly where that fucking _pendejo_ is, and then we’ll let you go.” He made it sound so easy, so simple.

Jim grinned at him, doing his best to look crazed and high on the pain.

Paulo waited a minute before raising his eyebrows. “No?” He snapped his fingers again and this time, Jim felt a set of solid knuckles slam into his cheek. It hit with enough force to make his jaw click painfully, throwing his head to the side in an attempt to absorb the blow.

He tasted more blood and spat onto the floor, grimacing.

“Tell us where he is,” Paulo said simply.

“Fuck,” Jim snarled, collecting his breath, “you.”

“Again,” Paulo muttered. “And don’t stop until he’s ready to talk.”

Jim gritted his teeth and looked up when the first thug came into his line of sight, grinning wickedly. There was gold glinting on both of his fists, and Jim realized a moment later that he was sporting brass knuckles.

The man bent over, placing his hands on his knees to look sideways at Jim.

“You gonna like this,” he sneered, and then drove the air out of Jim’s lungs with a blow straight to his ribs. Jim slumped forward and groaned, the pain driving his breakfast into his throat again. He didn’t have time to recover before a matching blow to his other side landed, and another, more, until his sides were on fire and he felt something crack when the last one landed.

He was wheezing, slumped over against the binds on his wrists, and spat more blood out when Paulo sat back down in front of him.

“Have you reconsidered?”

It took Jim a moment to collect enough breath. When he did, his answer was still the same. “Fuck you,” he snarled again, the words aimed at Paulo’s shoes.

“Give him more, then,” Paulo sighed, as if this were actually hurting him.

This time, the second man stepped in. He was not sporting brass knuckles.

He did have hands the size of dinner plates, and when they curled into fists, it was like being hit with a sledgehammer. Jim’s head repeatedly smacked back into the pillar, until he could feel the slow oozing trickle of blood down the back of his neck.

The last blow broke his nose, drawing a startled cry of pain.

“Enough?” Paulo asked, as a formality, and Jim grunted at him. “Keep going.”

Brass knuckles returned, delivering an uppercut that chipped a molar, then a right hook that threw his jaw out of alignment, and a left hook that caused his eye to immediately swell shut.

There was a brief pause while he popped his knuckles, and Jim wondered if this was going to be it. His breath whistled in and out, shallow and harsh, but as the man pulled back his fist again, there came a muffled cry.

As one, five heads turned towards the conference room. Jim could just make out a skinny figure hopping over the desk, wrenching open the door.

“Ahhh, Flanaghan,” Paulo greeted cheerily, sounding like he was meeting an old friend. Drool and blood dribbled around the corner of Jim’s mouth, his jaw slack. It was hard to breathe and hard to see.

“Cory,” Jim rasped, slurring from the pain of speaking around a jaw that had been dislocated. He didn’t say anything else, just squinted at the kid as he was seized by one of the thugs and dragged over to kneel next to Jim.

Jim stared at him, glaring angrily to the best of his ability.

“I told you to stay put,” he warbled incoherently.

“The boy shows his true colors,” Paulo snarled, and one of the thugs kicked Cory’s knees wider apart before moving to stand behind his boss.

“Cory,” Jim mumbled, waiting for the kid to look at him. There were tears in the kid’s eyes, wide and wet with fear. “Whatever happens, don’t -” Jim’s next words morphed into a scream, the sound pinched; it tore everything from him.

The fourth thug had picked up one of the heavy metal stands that guided lines of people on busy days.

He’d pulled back, as though to swing for a home run.

He’d brought the heavy steel rod down on Jim’s thigh, fracturing the bone with a loud crack.

“No!” Cory yelled, lurching towards him, but was yanked back by his hair. He reached up, closing his hands around the fist that held his head back at a painful angle.

“Don’t even think about it,” the man growled, pulling the heavy rod up underneath Cory’s chin. He pressed it against Cory’s windpipe, just to hear him sputter and cough.

Jim’s eyes were still closed, barely breathing, barely even awake.

“Cory,” he sobbed, only just managing to lift his head. Cory was staring at him, tears rolling freely down his cheeks. The heavy rod was gone.

The rifle was leveled at Cory’s head.

Jim closed his eyes, barely registering the sound of the shot. The silence on the other side of it loomed, suffocating; the only sound was a broken sob wrenched from Jim’s chest.

Then: “Cut him loose,” Paulo muttered, rising to his feet.

Without the support of the rope binding him to the pillar, Jim slumped forward, barely able to catch himself on numb hands, barely able to hold himself up through the pain of several fractured bones.

He forced himself to look, even though he could barely see, at the kid slumped next to him.

Cory stared back at him from the floor, unseeing.

Dead.

∞

When Leonard arrived at City Hall, he sought out Nyota first. She was standing alone, hugging herself, watching the building she’d gotten out of.

“Nyota,” he murmured, touching her elbow. She looked at him, unseeing, and suddenly it was like he’d smashed a wall; a sob clawed its way towards him and she turned to fling her arms around his neck.

“He’s in there,” she cried against his chest. “Jim’s in there.”

He held her tight, held on for dear life, because Jim was somewhere in that building with the worst danger in the city. His throat closed off for a moment, making speaking impossible. She loosened her grip after a while and slid her hand into his, squeezing gently.

After a while, they moved closer to the ambulance and police cars, eavesdropping.

Waiting.

The moment he heard the all clear come over the radio, he was like a man possessed. He left Nyota’s side, never hearing her call out to him. He ducked under the police tape and ignored the warnings of the officers near him.

He had one thing on his mind and one thing only.

Leonard ran harder than he ever had in his life. He was ten paces ahead of the SWAT team when he reached the door, and didn’t bother waiting for the elevator. He shoved his way into the stairwell, climbing the steps as fast as his legs could carry him.

He burst onto the third floor and came to a fumbling halt, taking in the scene before him.

A heavy rod was laying on its side, rocking back and forth. Tables were shoved aside, some of them overturned; the door to Jim’s office was splintered and kicked open. His attention was drawn to the end of the room, to Jim cradling a young man in his arms, rocking forward and back; his left leg was curled under him, the right one extended at an angle, and upon hearing the bang of the door, Jim looked up.

“Bones,” he sobbed, pressing his unharmed temple to the top of the kid’s head.

Leonard crossed the room, falling down beside Jim.

“It’s okay,” Leonard choked out even though it wasn’t, taking in the bruising and the way Jim was holding himself. His first instinct was to crush Jim against him, but there was no way that wouldn’t hurt like hell. Instead, he gently pried the body from Jim’s hands, lowering him to the floor. “Jim,” Leonard murmured, touching his shoulder.

Jim hissed in a breath, but leaned into him, pressing his cheek into Leonard’s chest. He said the same thing over and over, “Jim, Jim, Jim,” until he was simply rocking back and forth, holding Jim against him.

“I’m sorry,” Jim cried, fisting a hand in his shirt. “I’m so sorry, you were right.”

“I didn’t want to be,” Leonard mourned, placing his hand on the back of Jim’s head. He pulled it away immediately when he felt the stickiness of coagulating blood. “I never wanted to be right,” he whispered, staring at Jim’s blood on his palm.

“But you were,” Jim cried, pulling back to look at him. One eye was swollen shut and his jaw offset and Leonard just wanted to cocoon him in his arms. “I love you,” Jim shook his head minutely. “I love you so much, I’m so sorry.”

“Were you shot?” Leonard asked, tentatively putting his hand on Jim’s shoulder. He couldn’t tell where there was pain and where wasn’t. It was obvious his jaw was out of place. His nose was broken, blood still trickling from it.

“No,” Jim mumbled, swallowing thickly. “Think my leg’s broken,” he confessed, looking down at it. He could still see the lifeless body next to him, and closed his good eye, rocking back and forth slightly. “You were right,” he said again, and he started to shake.

The medics weren’t far behind Leonard. They carried a stretcher and called for another the moment they arrived. They rolled Cory onto the first stretcher while the second team pried Jim out of Leonard’s arms.

Leonard rode to the hospital with Jim’s hands clasped in his own, while the medic took stock of the bruising.

“Are you gonna be my doctor?” Jim asked, slipping away as the pain medication started kicking in.

“Can’t, kid. Conflict of interest. Gonna be right here the whole time, right here when you wake up,” Leonard said softly, brushing the hair back from his forehead.

“That’s stupid,” Jim sighed, squinting up at Leonard. “You’ve got work.”

Leonard forced a smile until Jim dropped off, then pulled out his phone and started making calls.

The moment they arrived at the hospital, Leonard had Puri put on the case. Jim would need pins placed in his femur before anything more could be done for the leg; he stayed with Jim through x-rays and remained tight-lipped at the extent of the damage.

From the top down, Jim had a skull fracture, a broken nose, a dislocated jaw, heavy contusions on his torso, three cracked ribs, and a transverse femoral fracture.

All to save a near-complete stranger’s life.

 


	4. Chapter 4

Jim’s eyes didn’t open for sixteen hours after surgery. He’d somehow avoided a concussion, although his skull had fractures spider-webbing across the back of his head. Leonard almost didn’t want to know what had happened.

The cops assigned to the case had come and gone four times since Jim had left the operating room. He had pins in his femur and a sheet of titanium holding his bones in place while they grew back together.

In order to treat the linear skull fracture, they’d had to shave the back of Jim’s head. Leonard had signed off on shaving the rest of his soft golden locks, reasoning that Jim never did anything halfway and having only half his head shaved would drive him up the wall.

His nose had been reset during surgery, after they’d checked his head. It was bruised and angry, covered by two thin strips to help ease his breathing. They were almost pointless, since he was sleeping with his mouth open. It was the most peaceful Leonard had ever seen Jim sleep, but he knew it was the drugs keeping him still, keeping him quiet.

They’d left Jim out of a hospital gown so they could tend to his ribs easier. The blankets were tucked clear up over his chest, his arms resting over it to keep it from falling. Leonard had seen the bruising over his broken bones, the almost-black impressions of four perfect circles.

Too perfect to be knuckles.

His jaw had been reset during surgery and no longer looked off-kilter. There was a bruise alongside it, evidence of where he’d been hit.

The worst part of it all, the thought that kept Leonard by Jim’s bed the entire time, was knowing that Jim had gotten off lucky. He didn’t leave Jim’s bed except to pee and let the nurses check on him.

Leonard’s head was on Jim’s thigh when he woke up. He’d fallen asleep holding onto Jim’s opposite hand, stroking loosely over his knuckles. His injured leg was already wrapped in a cast, having been set and molded while he was under. The only sign of awareness other than a jump in his pulse was his free hand, threading loosely through Leonard’s hair.

“Fancy seeing you here,” Jim said, his voice a raspy whisper. He coughed and winced, his hand flying to his side. Leonard opened his eyes and saw the crease between his eyebrows, saw his cracked lips, and sat up too quickly.

“I’ll get you some water,” Leonard said, pushing to his feet before he was fully awake. The position he’d slept in left a soreness in his neck. He rubbed at it as he made his way toward the employee lounge, returning with a styrofoam cup of ice chips. Jim licked his lips as he re-entered, not quite meeting his eyes.

“You been here the whole time?”

“Ever since they wheeled you out of the OR,” Leonard said quietly. He perched on the side of Jim’s bed, cup and spoon in hand. “Do you want me to feed you, or are you going to bark at me for trying to help?”

Jim closed his eyes, jaw tense, and dropped his head back against the bed. “You wanna do this now? Here?”

“No,” Leonard sighed, picking up a spoonful of ice. “Sorry.”

Jim’s fingers were cold when they wrapped around Leonard’s wrist, his blue eyes wide and losing focus. He pressed his lips together, fighting to stay lucid. “Bones,” he pleaded, voice breaking. “I just… I can’t lose you. Don’t leave, please? Don’t leave me alone in the dark again.”

“I won’t,” Leonard promised, moving the spoon closer to his lips. “Come on, you’re dehydrated, kid.”

“Don’t want it,” Jim muttered, turning his head away with a grimace. An affectionate smile graced Leonard’s worn, tired features, and he sat more fully on the bed.

“Come on, Jim. Just one spoonful for me?”

The drugs were kicking in harder now. A man who had been ready to sacrifice his own life for that of an innocent had been reduced to a five year old. He pouted as he turned back to look at Leonard, doleful innocence clouded by morphine.

“Do I have to?” He whispered, finally letting go of Leonard’s wrist, as if he’d forgotten he’d stopped him in the first place.

“No,” Leonard murmured, setting the spoon back in the cup. “It’s fine, Darlin’.”

“Lay down,” Jim huffed, reaching out to tug clumsily on Leonard’s shirt. He obeyed, wary of Jim’s IV line and his injuries. The nurse popped her head in less than five minutes later to check his drip levels and peek under his bandages. She turned out the light on her way out the door, and Leonard slept again.

∞

Jim was discharged from the hospital a week later. Most of his bruises had gone from black to blue, his head was covered in stubbly hairs, and he constantly bothered the nurses for cast signings.

Truth be told, Jim was almost a perfect patient. He rarely called the nurses unless he needed to use the bathroom, and he rarely complained about the food. Leonard knew that was because he wasn’t eating the food, but he couldn’t resist Jim’s hopeful grin whenever he asked for something special.

Jim remained in good spirits until the moment they pulled up to Leonard’s house.

“Bones, I thought you were taking me home.”

“I have taken you home,” Leonard said carefully, trying to catch Jim’s eye.

“No, you took me to _your_ home. I don’t live here, Bones.”

“Will you hear me out, Jim?”

Jim pressed his lips into a line, then nodded once for him to continue.

Leonard took a deep breath. “I know it’s not ideal and we have things we need to work through. However, you’re in no condition to be on your own right now, and I say that as your doctor not your boyfriend.”

“I can take care of myself,” Jim ground out, swinging his head around to glare at Leonard.

“I know, Jim. I just want to help, all right?” Leonard replied helplessly. “Will you let me?”

Jim looked out the passenger window and exhaled a long stream of air through his nose. “Fine,” he said, reaching for the door handle. A few moments later, Leonard appeared on the curb holding Jim’s crutches in one hand. It took a few tries, but Jim managed to find a good handhold and lever himself up out of the car, face flushed from the effort. Leonard didn’t offer a hand up.

He handed over the crutches and turned back to the still open trunk, pulling a black bag out.

“I, uh, got some of your things,” he explained, hiking the strap over his shoulder. “Before you ask, I was hoping you’d say yes. Not assuming.”

“Right,” Jim huffed, leaning onto the crutches. He found his balance and took a trial step forward, shoulders hunched over slightly. He nodded and Leonard moved on to unlock the front door, holding it open as Jim hobbled up the walk. The moment he reached the living room, he let go of both crutches and sagged onto the couch with a sigh.

“How you feelin’?”

“Fine,” Jim answered gruffly, smoothing a hand over his ribs. He snatched up a pillow from the end of the couch and leaned forward to arrange it near the middle. With surprising stability, he lifted the heavy cast and set his calf on the pillow, then sank back with a sigh of relief. “Bit hungry,” he admitted, closing his eyes.

“What are you in the mood for?” Leonard asked, his hands finding Jim’s shoulders from the end of the couch.

“Something you won’t even touch in a million years,” Jim smirked, tilting his head back to look up at his lover. “McDonalds.”

“No,” Leonard snorted, shaking his head. “I’ll fix you up a steak, though. You could use some protein after that cardboard the hospital calls food. Maybe a baked potato for some potassium, it’ll help with the crutch soreness.”

“Do I get a beer, too?”

“Only if you go without painkillers,” Leonard said, kissing the top of his head. He squeezed Jim’s shoulders once last time and pulled away.

“Fine,” Jim huffed, opening his eyes again. There was too much left unsaid for him to just sit there for too long, but he was tired and still sore and a steak sounded damn good. “Where’s the remote?” Jim called, setting his good foot on the ground so he could look for it. The stretch felt nice, but the full-leg cast dug into his hip as he leaned forward. The muscles in his chest pulled across his side as he twisted, and he had to stifle a wince. He made a mental note to avoid cracking his ribs in the future.

“In the drawer of the coffee table,” Leonard called out, his voice distant and echoing faintly from the kitchen.

“It’d be great if I could _reach_ the coffee table,” Jim muttered. The gentle sting where the cast pressed against his skin morphed into something decidedly more unpleasant, and Jim slumped back against the couch in defeat. He looked around at the couch, glaring briefly at his leg.

He drummed his fingertips against the cast, thinking. He had no intention of calling for Leonard, but the cast was just heavy enough to make moving a feat of strength. Sucking in a breath, he leaned forward again, twisting his body in the hopes of reaching the coffee table. His fingertips fell short by a few inches, and he fell back against the couch again with a huff.

“Stupid cast,” he muttered, scratching under the top edge. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted the pair of crutches where Leonard had set them by the couch. Jim grunted and reached for them, flipped one of them around, and used the end of it to hook the corner leg of the table and drag it closer. “Take that, leg,” Jim cheered, pulling open the drawer. Sitting inside were two remotes, one for the cable receiver and one for the television. He grabbed them both and sat up in time to see Leonard take the last two steps to the couch.

With a soft sigh and a shake of his head, Leonard leaned against the back of the couch.

“Before you say it, when I want your help, I’ll ask for it.”

“Really, Jim?” Leonard raised an eyebrow, reaching for the remote in Jim’s hand. He turned on the television and leaned over the couch to drop the remote on the table. “Because I really don’t think you will. I practically had to con you into letting me take care of you.”

“That’s because I don’t need taking care of,” Jim insisted. He turned on the cable box and clenched his jaw, refusing to meet his lover’s eyes. “Not that you agree,” he added under his breath.

Leonard’s eyes hardened, but it was gone in a moment. “Do you want anything on your potato?”

“You seem to think you know what I need.” Jim pressed buttons on the remote, flicking through channels faster than he could register what they were.

Leonard had to take a calming breath. When he let it out, he took a step back from the couch. “I’ll be in the kitchen if you want anything.”

“Awesome,” Jim replied.

∞

By the end of the first week, Leonard just about felt like strangling Jim. He’d used up some sick leave, working short shifts in the morning and evening to compensate for Jim’s needs. The man in question was starting to get on his very last nerve. Nothing seemed good enough. The only time Jim let him help was right after he’d taken his pain medication.

For the first few days, Jim stayed on the couch. He got up to use the bathroom and run his physical therapy exercises, but half the time Leonard would return to find him on the floor of the living room, sprawled on his back and breathing hard. He would almost always refuse the offer to help him back to the couch. After eight unsuccessful attempts to help, Leonard stopped asking.

They fell into a rhythm of sorts, which both eased and added to the stress bottled up in Jim’s body. In the mornings, Leonard would make breakfast and bring it over to the living room. He’d leave Jim alone to do his physical therapy, which consisted of stretching and light exercise. More than once he expressed that he thought Jim was pushing himself too hard. He would retreat to his office on the ground floor, and come out a few hours later to find that Jim had moved all on his own to a new location of the house.

It wasn’t until the third week that he came out of his office, checked all the usual spots, and couldn’t find a single trace of the man.

“Jim?” He called out, returning to the kitchen for its central location. On his third pass through the living room, he finally spotted him on the back patio lounging in a lawn chair. He’d managed to find a pair of sunglasses and was sitting with his shirt off, leg propped up on the pillow from another chair.

Jim lifted his head when he heard the door open, peering over the sunglasses. “Hey, Bones.”

“You’re gonna hurt yourself if you keep pulling stunts like this,” Leonard said crossly. He walked over to Jim, watching the false smile slide right off his face.

“It isn’t a stunt to get up, take my crutches, and move around on my own.”

“Could you at least let me know when you do?” The doctor in him was screaming about all the ways Jim could refracture his leg. The bones were still incredibly fragile, probably hadn’t even formed solid connections yet; Leonard’s main concern was that he’d stumble and go to catch himself. With his shirt off, Leonard could clearly see the ugly bruising around Jim’s ribs.

“I thought you couldn’t be my doctor because we’re involved,” Jim said, gesturing between them.

“I can’t,” Leonard frowned. He pulled up one of the other chairs on the patio, running his eyes down the length of Jim’s body with absolutely no questionable intentions. Jim could see from the set of his eyes and the way his shoulders looked like they were trying to climb his ears that he was looking for new damage.

“Then stop doctoring me,” Jim said pointedly. He pushed the sunglasses up his nose and laid his head back again.

“I’m not doctoring you,” Leonard huffed. He leaned over, putting his elbows on his knees, and let his gaze linger on Jim’s ribs. “You won’t _let_ me doctor you. I’m just worried, Jim.”

“Obviously,” Jim muttered. He pursed his lips and sighed, reaching up to take the sunglasses off. He folded and set them aside, blinking rapidly in the sudden change of light. “I’m frying like an egg here, can you fetch me some sun screen?”

From personal experience, Leonard knew Jim didn’t burn. He gritted his teeth and straightened up, meeting Jim’s gaze evenly. “If you want sunscreen, get it yourself,” he said, in a harder voice than he’d intended. Jim’s lips twitched into a ghost of a smirk, and it only fueled his anger. Leonard stood, straightened his shorts, and turned his back on the younger man.

He stalked into the house, letting the air conditioning wash over him. He didn’t let the door slam shut behind him, although it was tempting. Instead, he closed it quietly and trudged into the kitchen to make a sandwich. He made two out of habit, not realizing until he was readying a knife to cut them in two that he’d done it. A single glance outside at Jim’s prone form, and he set the knife back down.

Leonard left the sandwich sitting on the counter, along with Jim’s next round of pills and a tall glass of water.

Nearly an hour later, he heard the back door open and the gentle thud and scuffle of Jim’s crutches. He followed the sounds as they rounded the countertop, heard Jim snort softly. The glass thudded lightly as he set it down, and that was when he stood up from behind the desk in his office and emerged.

“You know, it’s not because I think you _can’t_ take care of yourself,” Leonard said, emerging from the short hallway. Jim looked up, mouth full of food, and continued chewing with his emotions completely covered.

“Doesn’t seem that way,” he replied, after letting the silence linger long after he’d swallowed.

“How long do you think you’d have lasted at your apartment?”

“Bones, the heater was fixed weeks ago,” Jim snapped.

“I’m not talking about the heater,” Leonard shot back, matching Jim’s angry tone. “I’m talking about the flight and a half of stairs you’d have to climb when you could barely get yourself out of my car. I’m talking about the absolute lack of food in your fridge - and before you accuse me of it I didn’t look, I’ve just been there enough times to know.”

Jim opened his mouth to refute his words, but Leonard slapped his hand down on the counter, and only felt a little bad when Jim flinched.

“You would’ve lasted two days in your apartment, and then you’d have called me up asking me to come get you, and you damn well know it.”

Jim’s nostrils flared and his mouth tightened at the corners. “I guess we’ll never find out,” Jim growled, laying his half eaten sandwich back on the napkin where Leonard had left it. “You never gave me a chance to find out.”

“So, what, instead of just getting the fuck over it, you’re taking it out on me?”

“Well, you sure have called me an _infant_ enough times, I figure now’s as good a time as any to start acting like it.”

“Damnit, Jim, would you listen to yourself for five seconds? It’s not about us. I volunteered to do this for you. If I hadn’t, they’d have just sent some random nurse to check up on you every four hours and racked up a nice lengthy hospital bill for you.”

“Please don’t act like this was about you saving me money,” Jim scoffed. He picked up his crutches and came around the kitchen counter, stopping just shy of Leonard’s reach. “This has been about you and your white knighting ever since we had dinner at that stupid French place.”

“White knighting?” Leonard stumbled over the word, repeating it like an accusation.

Jim shook his head and turned, hobbling his way into the living room. Leonard followed, not ready to let the conversation die just yet.

“You don’t get to run away, damnit. We started this, and it’s been a long time comin’.”

“Jesus Christ, Bones,” Jim erupted, spinning faster than Leonard knew he could. He glowered at Leonard, head down, and tightened his grip on his crutches.

“What? What the hell do you want from me, Jim? Nothing I do is good enough.”

“Leave me alone! Just leave me alone, Bones. I don’t need you.”

Leonard took a step back, staring at Jim like he’d been slapped. He wiped the look away quickly, replacing it with fury. “Fine,” he said coldly. He took a step backward, shaking his head. “Fine. You want to be left alone? Great.” He brushed past Jim, mindful of the crutches, and went straight for the front door.

“Where are you going?” Jim asked, turning to watch his boyfriend stuff his feet into a pair of sneakers.

“Out,” was all he said. He opened the door, stepped out, and slammed it behind him.

∞

It was dark out, which meant Leonard had been gone for at least eight hours. Jim really needed to pee.

He also refused to call, because the moment he did, he’d just get an earful of _I told you so_. Naturally, as the pressure started to climb, he gave up waiting and hauled the crutches towards himself. He ignored the pull in his chest and struggled to his feet, fitting the crutches immediately under his shoulders. His armpits were sore from using them more than usual that day, but he used the discomfort to help distract him from the need to relieve himself.

Jim was careful as he rounded the couch, every step slow and just shy of pained. The drugs had worn off hours ago, and he had no idea where Leonard had put the bottle after giving Jim his last dose. He winced and grunted his way towards the stairs, trying not to think about just how many there were. At the foot of the staircase, he took a deep breath.

The first few steps took some coordination; Jim spent the entire five minutes cursing Leonard’s downstairs bathroom for being too small, and having too few handholds for him to safely use. On the down side, he’d have to climb the flight of stairs; on the up side, he could be in bed before Leonard got home, and avoid finishing the fight until morning.

The halfway point up to the second floor was a small landing, and it took Jim nearly twenty full minutes to reach it. He arrived breathing hard, leg aching from being less than gentle during the climb.

“Come on, Jim,” he muttered to himself, sucking in a deep breath of air. He shuffled over to the next set, steeling himself for the climb. He raised one crutch and placed it, then the other, and leaned on them as he prepared to lift his good leg.

Just as he took his weight off, one of the crutches slipped off the step. With a loud curse, he flung both crutches aside and reached out to cushion his fall. He landed with the majority of his weight on his palms, braced at the edge of a step, and had to struggle to keep his balance. The moment his muscles engaged to stabilize him, pain shot through his chest, causing him to cry out once more.

He was vaguely aware of the dull clatter as his crutches slid down the stairs, thudding to a stop at the bottom. He lowered himself less than gracefully to rest on his stomach, laying his cheek against the stair where he’d stopped. He closed his eyes and just breathed for a few long moments, letting the pain dull from screaming to a dull throb.

A throaty whine worked its way from his throat. He wasn’t sure how long he laid there, but a niggling pain was starting up just above the knee on his broken leg. He struggled to turn over onto his back, ignoring the step jutting into his spine. With a hand braced on either side, he pushed himself into a sitting position, checking quickly for any damage to the cast. It was, thankfully, unharmed; two thick lines were starting to show on his palms already, bruising from the fall. His chest still ached, but it was relatively minor.

All in all, it wasn’t too bad. He was in no shape to drag himself the rest of the way up, and even if he got there, he had little enough energy to get all the way to the bathroom.

Bladder screaming, muscles still twitching irritably, Jim had to just sit and wait.

Two of his favorite activities.

∞

Leonard slowly slid his key into the lock, turned it, and pushed the front door open. The lights were still on in the living room, but it was utterly vacant. A flash of movement from the staircase brought his attention, and he swung his gaze to find Jim leaned against the banister with his leg propped up on the step above him. He glanced down at the foot of the stairs, where the crutches laid as innocently as if they’d been left there.

Laden with two armfuls of groceries, he kicked the door shut and made sure his face remained impassive as he made his way into the kitchen. He took his sweet time putting the produce away, laying out the fruit to be washed in the morning.

He took a moment in the kitchen to compose himself, and refused to let the worry over Jim’s wellbeing seep into his mind. He wasn’t even sure that Jim would’ve called if he’d seriously hurt himself, but he didn’t look like he was in any more pain than usual. Before he left, Leonard grabbed the bottle of painkillers and stuffed them into his pocket.

His steps were purposeful as he exited the kitchen, crossed the dining room, and rounded the staircase. He paused at the foot of the stairs, stooping to pick up the crutches and transfer them both to one hand. Then he started up, measured and calm. He knew from the smell that Jim had wet himself, but he made no mention of it. He simply offered his hand.

Without a word, Jim took it, and together they pulled him to his feet. He wound his arm around Leonard’s shoulders, the movement natural and practiced.

“Sorry,” Jim muttered, cradling his free arm across his chest. Leonard swallowed and clamped his mouth shut; Jim tightened his grip, biting back a wince at every step. At the top of the staircase, Leonard turned, making a beeline for the bathroom.

He propped the crutches up against the counter and grabbed a washcloth, laying it in the sink within Jim’s reach. “Clean yourself up. I’ll grab you some clothes,” Leonard said as he left. His voice was cool and professional, and if Jim were in the mood to feel sorry for himself, it might have stung.

Instead, he worked his jeans down over his hips, underwear and t-shirt to follow, leaving all three in a pile. It wasn’t his fault. He’d had to go pretty damn badly, and with no one around to help him, he’d simply given up waiting and gone. It wasn’t worth the bladder infection.

By the time Leonard returned, Jim had wiped himself down from head to neck to knee; the full length cast made showering a mountain of a task, so he’d been making do with a washcloth every day. He leaned against the counter, accepting the clean boxers and sweats Leonard brought in.

While Jim dressed, Leonard leaned in the doorway, arms folded. “Could’ve called,” he muttered, shaking his head slowly at the pile of soiled clothing.

“Could’ve come back sooner,” Jim replied, dragging the clean t-shirt over his head. He took one look at the crutches and rubbed at one of his armpits, lip curling as he stifled a wince. He took a breath and let it out slowly. “I’m…” He swallowed, shaking his head to clear it. “Would you help me to the bed?”

“Of course,” Leonard said, pushing away from the door. He stepped up to Jim, sliding an arm around his waist. In spite of his reservations, Jim wrapped an arm tightly around Leonard and leaned against him. He sat down heavily at the end of the bed, shoulders slumped with fatigue. He sat for a long moment with his eyes closed, gathering his strength and his thoughts.

When he opened them, Leonard was pacing slowly, the fingers of one hand covering his mouth.

Jim cleared his throat. “Bones.”

Leonard flinched, like he’d forgotten Jim was even there. He turned to face him, dropping his hands to his sides. He waited, looking at Jim expectantly.

Jim sighed, running a hand through his hair. He grimaced at the texture and dropped his hand to his knee, hanging his head. “I don’t know how to do this.” He was vaguely aware of the bed sinking beside him, and Leonard’s knee entered his field of vision. Neither man reached for the other.

“Do what?” Leonard said softly, his voice guarded.

Jim snorted, but it was without humor. “Let someone take care of me,” he confessed. “Let _you_ take care of me.”

Leonard pressed his lips together, nodding minutely. He didn’t say anything for a long while. As the seconds ticked by, Jim started to fidget. He didn’t know what to say, or if he should say anything, so he looked away. It was easy to find the walls very interesting in that moment.

Without ever saying a word, Leonard stood up, and Jim’s eyes snapped to his face. “Bones?”

Leonard’s face remained blank as he stepped around Jim’s cast and made his way out of the room. He didn’t look back once, and no matter how hard Jim tried to ignore it, being brushed off was like being punched in the ribs all over again. But he understood, so he didn’t call out or try to get his attention; he just looked back at the wall, folded his hands, and waited.

He could hear the gentle thud and bang of cupboards being opened in the kitchen, and it was only then that he realized how hungry he was. In his dire need to use the bathroom, he’d completely foregone any kind of food, and now he was stranded upstairs with little chance of being heard from the kitchen.

After a little over half an hour, the banging stopped, and Jim could hear footsteps on the stairs. He sat up a little straighter and folded his hands in his lap, trying not to look as miserable as he felt. When Leonard crested the top of the stairs, relief flooded through him at the sight of the tray laden with food.

It must’ve shown on his face, because Leonard smiled wryly. “Figured you might be hungry. How long were you stuck there?”

“I’m not sure exactly, but it was a least an hour and a half.”

“Why didn’t you call me?” Leonard asked carefully.

“I would have,” Jim said, looking up at him sincerely. Leonard set the tray beside Jim once he reached the bed. “Phone was downstairs on the couch.”

Leonard sighed softly and took a step back, resuming his pacing from before. Jim glanced down at the tray and picked up the apple laid out on the tray, along with the paring knife that had been beside it. He cut off a chunk of the apple and raised it, taking a small bite as he trained his eyes on his lover.

Thankfully, he no longer looked angry. Jim had nearly finished his apple by the time Leonard stopped pacing and turned toward him. He took one long stride forward and then knelt on the floor in front of Jim, placing one hand on Jim’s good knee and the other on the bed beside him.

He took a breath. “Jim, you’re one of the strongest people I’ve ever met. I have never doubted that. Actually, it’s one of the things I love most about you. It drew me to you. But…” Leonard licked his lips, eyes trailing down Jim’s chest. “Just because you’re strong, that doesn’t mean you have to go it alone. Not just recovery, but life.”

Jim set what was left of the apple down on the tray, knife too, and wiped his hands on his shirt. He opened his mouth to reply, but Leonard beat him to it.

“Let me finish, damnit. I rehearsed this downstairs.” He smiled slightly, taking Jim’s hands. “I get that you need your space. I’ve been suffocating you, and I’m sorry. It’s in my nature to hold tighter to something when I think I might lose it.”

Jim rolled his eyes, cutting in anyway. “You weren’t gonna lose me from a single fight, Bones. We’ve had them before.”

Shaking his head, Leonard frowned. He swallowed hard and rapped his knuckles on the cast. “I meant from this.” His next breath shook slightly.

“From a broken leg?” Jim frowned.

“No,” Leonard chuckled, shaking his head. His smile fell quickly, turning serious once more. “From those men.” He was quiet, letting the information sink in. Jim nodded slowly and changed the topic, preferring not to think about it.

“I’ll be honest. I stopped listening when you said you wanted to pay for things.” Jim grimaced, squeezing his hands. “But you can’t ask me to leave my job and tell me it’s protection.”

“I know,” Leonard nodded. “It was unfair to say that to you, I’m sorry. It was a… gut reaction.” He licked his lips again and got to his feet, turning instead to sit beside Jim. He didn’t hesitate to wrap his arm around Jim’s shoulders, and the younger man sunk into the warmth.

“You know, it felt like you were just tossing aside my entire career.”

“I’m sorry,” Leonard murmured again.

“Me, too.” Jim lifted his head up, and Leonard turned to meet him. Jim’s hand wound up to the back of his head, pulling him closer for a soft kiss. He sighed as he pulled away. “I need you, Bones. Not just for this,” he said as gestured to his cast.

“I’ll always be here.”

Jim smiled slightly and extracted himself from Leonard’s embrace. “Did you eat while you were out?”

“Yeah. That’s all for you.”

“Thank you,” Jim murmured. He inspected the tray more fully now that he had the chance. There was a bowl of soup, some crackers, carrots, and the leftover apple. “I’m gonna eat this, and then I would really like to go to bed,” he sighed.

Leonard pulled out the bottle of painkillers, handing them over to Jim. “Forgot that I grabbed these.”

Jim took the bottle gratefully, popping the lid off. He pulled out the usual dose, plus a little extra, and tossed them into his mouth. He swallowed them dry and lifted the tray to his lap, digging in.

In the morning, they agreed that Jim should go home. Leonard helped gather his things, and as they pulled away from the curb, Jim couldn’t help watching the house grow smaller.

∞

It was another two months before Jim’s cast came off. Leonard stopped by a couple times a week to make him dinner, check his progress, and relay information from the physical therapist he worked with.

The cast came off in sticky sections, revealing layers of pale, dead skin. Jim wrinkled his nose at it, but Leonard simply tossed him his sweats and barked at him to get in the car. The whole way home, Jim marveled at his newfound ability to bend his leg.

“First thing I’m gonna do is shower and scrub all this crap off,” Jim declared, staring at his leg as he flexed his knee. “God, that feels good,” he sighed.

“You’ll need to be careful,” Leonard cautioned. “You’re cleared to walk and be mobile, but nothing strenuous.”

“I know,” Jim rolled his eyes. He smiled, though, and set his hand on Leonard’s thigh.

The weeks following his de-casting, Jim spent more nights at Leonard’s place than his own, simply because he could. After living there for the better part of a month, he found that it was starting to grow on him.

It was growing so much that he’d started _accidentally_ leaving a few things over. Toiletries; like his tooth brush, a spare bottle of his shampoo, his deodorant. A few of his dress shirts and slacks for work, which Leonard didn’t bother mentioning; he merely hung them up in a section of the closet after he’d cleared it out for Jim’s stuff. A pair of his dress shoes followed, and then his sneakers. He kept a couple pairs of jeans and t-shirts, even some underwear.

It was hard to resist waking up plastered to Leonard’s back, or wrapped around his chest. It beat waking up cold and alone, with a sore back from his sorry excuse for a bed.

At first, Leonard didn’t mention it. He noticed, of course, but he was biding his time.

Jim went back to work shortly after the cast came off, and after a small settlement from the state, was able to get his car back up and running. Therefore, when Leonard asked him if he wanted to go out for dinner one Friday night, Jim grinned and said, “Of course. Let’s take your car.”

“What kind of food are you in the mood for?” Leonard asked from the closet. He emerged holding a pair of nice jeans and a button-up, tossed them on the bed, and went back for the rest of his clothing.

“I’m thinking somewhere along the beach,” Jim said. He stood up from where he’d been sitting on the bed, meeting Leonard in the doorway of the closet.

“Seafood, huh?”

“I’m in the mood,” Jim shrugged. He reached for the towel wound around Leonard’s waist and pulled him close, smiling crookedly.

“In the mood,” Leonard repeated, licking his lips. He wrapped an arm around the small of Jim’s back, pressing their bodies together. They were both still damp from the shower they’d shared, and Leonard’s legs were still trembling from the orgasm Jim had wrung out of him. He hummed, burying his nose in Jim’s neck. He kissed his way up to his ear and growled, “Would it be alright if I bought you dinner?”

Jim dropped his head to the side, his hands braced on Leonard’s shoulders. “Yeah. I think that would be alright.”

Leonard smiled into his neck and pulled back. “Guess we better get dressed then.”

After a bit of deliberation, they settled for dress-casual. Leonard donned his jeans and a black shirt, adding a maroon tie at the last minute, and a tan blazer. Jim shimmied into a pair of light jeans, a white v-neck shirt, and a black blazer.

Leonard knew just where to go; by the time they arrived, the place was already milling with people. Leonard was able to cut their wait time in half by sweet-talking the hostess, but they still killed time by sitting at the bar. Leonard’s hand on his knee was a warm presence, and in spite of everything they’d gone through those months back, he still felt closer than ever to his lover.

The hostess returned with a set of menus and more drinks, and led them right out onto the back patio section that overlooked the beach and gently rolling waves. They both sat with their backs to the building. He held Leonard’s hand in one of his own, his drink in the other, and not for the first time thanked his lucky stars to be alive.

The meal was nice, but Jim was happier to just sit and talk, and not feel like one of them had something heavy on their minds. With food and a few drinks in their systems, Leonard paid the bill, and stood up to take Jim’s hand.

He led them to the car, but instead of opening Jim’s door, he bent over and started removing his shoes and socks.

“What are you doing?” Jim asked, tilting his head.

“I’m taking you for a walk. Come on,” he said, gesturing to Jim’s shoes, and with a soft chuckle Jim leaned over to untie them.

Hand in hand, Leonard led Jim along the side of the building to a small path that let them out on the sandy shore. There were a few others milling about, looking for shells and rocks. The air was warm, cut by a gentle breeze.

“Jim… You know that me wanting to pay for things has nothing to do with your situation, right?” He was walking slowly, thinking over his words carefully.

“Kind of. Yeah, I know that, but…” Jim stopped, pulling Leonard around to face him. “I didn’t have a lot growing up. My family struggled. I’m used to it. And Mom…” He paused, gaze distant. “Mom never asked for a handout. It’s not about the money, Bones. It’s a pride thing.”

“Okay,” Leonard said softly, brow furrowed. “So what happens when you aren’t on your own anymore? What then?”

Jim frowned, watching him in the moonlight. “Then we share. We share everything. Bills, rent, food. I don’t want to feel like…”

“Like a prostitute,” Leonard said softly, thinking back to what Jim had said on their date so many months ago. “I care for people. I provide, it’s in my nature. I’m sorry if you ever felt like I was doing it to keep you around, Jim.”

Jim swallowed, nodding. “You have to let me struggle. I’ll ask for help when I need it.”

“Promise?” Leonard squeezed his hand, pulling him closer to wrap an arm around his waist.

“Promise. Come on,” Jim smiled, tilting his head toward the water. They started walking again, letting the silence surround them. For Jim, it felt like the last of a drug had worn off.

“So,” Leonard started, once they’d reached the wet sand and stopped. “Are you moving in, or what?”

“My place sucks,” Jim sighed, shaking his head.

“But you like it there,” Leonard suggested, tilting his head at Jim.

“I really don’t,” Jim laughed. “Being stuck there day in, day out…” He trailed off, looking at Leonard. “Would you want me to move in?”

Instead of replying, Leonard reached for him, pulled him close. He pressed his forehead to Jim’s and slipped his hand under Jim’s jacket to rest against his back. He kissed him, lips soft and almost timid, but he was smiling when he pulled back. “Jim, I hope you know I plan to spend the rest of my life with you. I thought I’d lost you, and… it was the most terrifying moment of my life.”

Jim blinked slowly as Leonard’s words sunk in. He looked down at his chin and smoothed his hands up Leonard’s chest, stopping just below his clavicle. He didn’t think he’d ever feel that way about anyone, but if their struggle had shown him anything, it was that he wanted that, too. The weeks he’d spent at Leonard’s house, while obnoxious and frustrating, had left him wanting more. Even when they were fighting, it was where he wanted to be.

Once home, he’d spent days at a time wishing he could just call Leonard and tell him that very thing, wishing Leonard would just show up without asking, but knowing the whole time that he wouldn’t push that boundary unless Jim told him he could.

He looked back up into Leonard’s eyes, took in the warmth and patience, the way the corners crinkled with amusement. Jim opened his mouth.

“You wanna get married?”

Laughing softly, Leonard pulled him in for another kiss. This one was longer, his tongue sweeping across Jim’s bottom lip. He smoothed his hands down to Jim’s hips, pulling him closer. It was all Jim could do to wrap his arms around Leonard’s neck, letting the force of his kiss bend him backward. When they broke apart, Leonard pressed their foreheads together, catching his breath amid a few wolf whistles. He smiled and pulled back, looking down into Jim’s eyes.

“I love you, Jim, but not yet. Someday. Someday soon, yeah.” He nodded, lifting his hands up to cup Jim’s face. He kissed him again, nibbling gently on his bottom lip, and whispered, “But you’re not gettin’ away with proposing without a ring.”

“Fair,” Jim grinned, tightening his arms into a hug. “I love you, too,” he said quietly, kissing the side of Leonard’s neck.

“I was serious, Jim.” Leonard pulled back. “I’d like it if you moved in. Just as long as you talk to me,” he added pointedly.

“I know,” Jim said, smiling sheepishly. “You learn a lot about yourself when you have nothing to do but sit and think. I think it made us stronger. We could handle living together as long as I can wipe my own ass.”

Leonard snorted softly, shaking his head. “You sure do have a way with words, kid.”

“I know. It’s why I became a lawyer.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> More tags will be added as chapters go up.


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